


My October Crisis

by Byrcca



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Fictober2019, If it’s in the title it’s in there somewhere, Inktober2019, Lee Draws Stuff, LeeDrawsStuff Inktober List, Prompt archeology, kinktober2019, proto-P/T, the kink is not what you think, unbetaed, whumptober2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-11-10 14:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 70,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20853230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: All the ‘tober prompts you’ll ever need, all in one place.





	1. It’ll be fun, trust me/phone sex/shaky hands/zombies

**Author's Note:**

> I’m tossing together the prompts from all the ‘tobers and writing silliness. Beware. I hope it’s entertaining. I reserve the right to use any combination of daily prompts, one, some or all. 
> 
> Also, for the Inktober prompts, I used the list by Lee Draws Stuff because he’s such a friend of Trek and I love how he draws my favourite couple.

Fictober #1

“It’ll be fun, trust me.” 

“I don’t know, Tom.” B’Elanna frowned, her generous lips twisted, nose scrunched the way she always did when she thought Tom had another harebrained idea. “We’re senior officers. And we’re not teenagers anymore, we’re married adults.”

“All the more reason to spice it up a little. Have a little fun, before…”

“Before the fun’s over?” Her frown morphed into a smirk, as she settled a hand on her distended belly. “It was _fun_ that got us into this mess.”

Tom smiled: he loved this woman! “Before we start having a different kind of fun,” he answered. He placed his larger hand over hers and rubbed her belly with his thumb. 

“I’m as big as the _Delta Flyer_, I can’t imagine—”

“Stop,” Tom admonished, with an index finger to her lips. “You’re gorgeous.” He leaned down for a slow, sweet kiss. “And besides, you’re no bigger than the _Cochran_.”

She whumped him on the shoulder. “What if someone catches us? Doesn’t Tuvok monitor internal communications?”

“I’ll be in sickbay this morning, and unless we run into some Delta Quadrant baddies it should be quiet. The Doctor is going golfing so I’ll be alone.” He pulled her into a hug, and the air left his lungs with an _uggh_ when the aforementioned bulge that held their daughter pressed on his diaphragm. 

“I guess I can arrange to spend some time in my office,” B’Elanna was back to frowning, “but I’d know that twenty of my staff were right there, on the other side of the door.” Her volume lowered, just in case any of her staff could overhear her, in their quarters. 

“That’s what makes it exciting.” Tom’s grin made his eyes crinkle at the corners. She was almost swayed, but was hesitating. “C’mon, just try it this once.” He kissed her throat, that soft vulnerable spot below her ear, ran the tip of his tongue over her earlobe as he sucked it between his lips. She shivered and leaned her head to the left to give him better access.“If you don’t like it, I’ll never ask again,” he murmured into her hair.

He kissed his way along her jaw to her mouth, and she slid her hands up his chest and clasped them together behind his neck as she leaned into him. She stared into his eyes for a long moment before finally acceding with a nod. 

“Okay. We’ll try it. But if anyone overhears—”

“That’s what makes it fun.” 

Tom smiled. He was never sure if he was a master of manipulation, or if she’d agreed long ago and was just stringing him along. 

***

The double _click_ from his combadge startled him and he almost dropped the vial of green liquid he was scanning. He’d been on duty for three minutes; the Doctor had just left.

“_Tom, it’s me. Are you alone?_”

“As a matter of fact, I am—”

“_I want you to fuck me, Tom. I want you to put your tongue in my—_L

“Whoa. Honey.” Tom’s eyebrows rose. “That wasn’t quite what I had in mind.” He frowned at the vial and placed it back on the rack.

There was a pause then B’Elanna came back, her voice considerably less soft and seductive. Not that it was particularly seductive before. “_Then what did you have in mind?_” In fact, there was a bit of an edge to her tone now.

“Something a little less…” _aggressive?_ “...adamant.” 

Another pause. “_Okay._”

Tom smiled. She just needed warming up a little. They’d indulged in dirty talk before, now that he thought about it. When, after a particularly rousing session of foreplay, she whispered ‘fuck me, Tom’ into his ear, her voice breathy and desperate, it sounded pretty damn sexy!

“_I don’t know what to say._”

“Instead of saying what you want, tell me what you like.”

“_All right._ Her voice lowered again. _I like it when you kiss my foot._”

That was more like it. “Where?” he asked. She just needed a little coaxing.

“_The bottom._

__

“The sole?”

__

“_Arch._

__

Yeah, this he already knew. Though, depending on how revved up she was, it was a dangerous indulgence. She’d kicked him in the face more than once. “What else do you like?” he asked.

__

“_When you… This is embarrassing._”

__

“No, it’s not. We’re married. C’mon, B’Elanna, you agreed to give it a try.” Sometimes she balked, but he could usually talk her around. He heard her sigh.

__

“_When you suck on my— I can’t do this._”

__

“But you were doing great!” Suck on what? What did she like him to suck on?! “How about you try saying what you’d like to do to me?”

__

“_Why don’t you take a turn?_”

__

“Because you called me.” And because he was genuinely curious if she would get over whatever inhibition was holding her back and do it. Now that they were married, she wasn’t exactly shy about her demands. And since she’d become pregnant, she’d been a little bit more _Klingon_ between the sheets than when they were dating. Between the sheets, against the wall, in the shower… one memorable time on the dining table, when they’d knocked the toaster to the floor. He loved that toaster, but in that moment he didn’t give a rats ass if it broke.

__

“_I just don’t feel very sexy right now._”

__

Her _appetite_ belied that statement. As soon as her nausea had disappeared in her tenth week, she’d been all over him like peanut butter on toast! He’d even had to skip lunch a couple of times. Well, sure, he’d _eaten_... but nothing Neelix had come up with! He snorted at his own cleverness.

__

“_What?_”

__

“Ahhh?” What did she mean: what?

__

“_Just because I’m a little more, you know, than usual doesn’t mean I feel sexy. I’m huge and bloated. I had to replicate new underwear last week. And I’m tired most of the time. Bits of me ache that I didn’t even know I had._”

__

That’s why they were doing this: so she could get her groove back. Tom smiled, his voice lowered. “I like your bits.” 

__

“_Yeah, a couple of bits in particular._”

__

Well, they were pretty prominent now. She was, to quote his grandmother, like a ship in full sail when she strode down the corridor.

__

“B’Elanna, you’re growing my baby, our little girl. Can I help it if I if think that’s sexy as hell?”

__

There was a short pause, and when she spoke again she sounded breathless. “_I guess not._”

__

“You’re not feeling a little _achy_ right now are you, Lieutenant Torres? Something that the ship’s nurse should take a look at?” He couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice. 

__

“_Are you saying you want to play doctor, Tom?_”

__

He grinned. “Well, I could give you an examination, if—”

__

The sickbay doors opened and Billy Telfer limped in, his hand clasping his gut. “Lieutenant Paris? Is the Doctor here? I really need the Doctor.”

__

“Why don’t you sit down, ensign, and tell me what’s wrong.” Tom turned to grab the medical tricorder off a nearby shelf. He murmured into his chest, “Sorry, I have to—”

__

_Yeah, me too. Out_.” His combadge double clicked as the line was cut.

__

***

__

Telfer did not have appendicitis, or a perforated bowel, or even food poisoning, though the odds on that were even. He hadn’t suddenly become gluten intolerant or spontaneously developed an allergy to lactose. Though, half an hour in Billy’s company gave Tom gas.

__

He’d refused to interrupt the Doctor’s golf game, and had given Telfer a dose of vitamin C to ward off rickets then sent him on his way with an admonishment to stretch before he tried Neelix’ lunch offering. 

__

He keyed the command to sanitize the biobed and turned his attention to the inventory of dermal regenerators the Doctor had assigned him. Apparently, they kept going missing. His combadge clicked twice.

__

“_Do you remember when you tricked me into trying that Klingon workout programme and the Nyrian appeared in the corridor with us?_”

__

B’Elanna launched right in, mid-conversation. Tom raised an eyebrow. “Yes?” Though, as he remembered it, he hadn’t tricked her, exactly. And she’d grown to love the programme. As a matter of fact, once, after they’d vanquished their enemies, they’d had twenty minutes left of their time and instead of moving on to the next level they’d celebrated their victory…

__

“_Do you remember when we were arguing in the corridor, before he showed up?_“

__

Remember? It was all he could do to stop himself from pushing her against the bulkhead and devouring her whole! She’d been gorgeous with her dark eyes flashing, and her breasts heaving, and her temper giving her cheeks colour.

__

“_Do you?_”

__

_“Umm, yeah.” Boy, did he. _

“_I wanted to stick my bat'leth in your chest._”

“Umm…”

“I wanted to throw things at your head and watch your blood run down your face. I wanted to throw you to the deck and pin you down and mark you.”

Ah. This was sounding more familiar. He’d been getting a little worried there. 

“_I still feel that way when you come home after a workout with Harry and you’re all sweaty._” 

“Why don’t you tell me what that would be like?” 

Silence stretched for a moment. “_I just did._”

Tom grimaced. “How about if I start us off. I’ve just come home from playing racquetball. My shirt is damp and sticking to my chest, and my hair is all sweaty.”

“_It curls a little when it’s damp._”

It does? “Yeah,” he agreed. “I think I’m alone, and all I can think about is the shower. I pull my tee shirt over my head and drop it on the floor as I walk toward the bathroom.”

“_You know I hate it when you leave your clothes lying around, Tom. The refresher’s right there. And with the baby coming, and our quarters so small, we need to keep everything tidy. I mean, if we think it’s a tight fit now, imagine how it will be with a bunch of baby toys, and a full sized crib, and a highchair._” 

Tom stayed silent, squinting at the osteoregenerator in his hands. 

“_Sorry,_ B’Elanna sounded contrite. _You were going to have a shower._

Tom’s lips twisted. He pushed on. “I slip off my shorts and order the computer to begin a warm water shower, then I step in—”

“_You know, I actually prefer sonic. I just like the way it massages my muscles._”

“Okay.” Tom set down the regenerator and picked up the next one from the tray and checked its power levels. “So, I step into the sonic sho—”

“_Janeway to engineering._”

The signal cut immediately. 

*** 

“I want to bend you over the workstation in front of the warp core and slowly slide into you, listen to you moan. All your staff are there, working away, but nobody notices—”

“_God, Tom, I could never do that!_”

He’d pictured the undulating colours of the ‘core in front of them, the _humms_ and _beeps_ of the monitoring stations that ringed main engineering. He’d imagined how titillating, how exciting it would be to take her, their chief, right in front of them. To have her moans and cries ring out in competition with the normal sounds of the busy department. 

He came back to reality with a jolt. “Well, no. We could never actually do that. It’s all just a fantasy, remember?”

“_Yes, but…_ A note of exasperation had crept into her tone. _As long you know we could never—_

“Of course not,” Tom denied, even as his mind drifted toward thoughts of the holodeck. He recalled the dressing down Janeway had given him and B’Elanna when they’d first started dating and were caught making out at the upper engineering console. He grinned. Thank you, alien scientists! Chakotay and the captain were less stringent with PDAs now that they were married, but actually having sex in the middle of main engineering would be pushing it. 

He started again. “I put my hand—”

“_Really, Tom, this is a little uncomfortable for me. Think up something else._”

Something else?! Just like that? “Ummm…” He heard a chime over the comlink, indicating that there was someone at her office door.

“_Come,_” she said. She didn’t break the link, and Tom shut his mouth. “_What is it, Vorik?_

“_I have the analysis of the boridium that you requested, Lieutenant._”

“_Thank you._ Tom heard a _clack_ and imagined her placing the PADD on her desk. “_I’d like you to run a level two diagnostic on the lateral deflector array. And tell Sue I’ll be there in a minute. _

“_Of course, Lieutenant._”

The doors closed. Tom waited, but she didn’t say anything. Finally, he couldn’t wait any longer. “Honey?”

“_Oh. Sorry. Vorik just came in and handed me… Wait. This ‘sex in front of my staff’ thing wouldn’t have anything to do with Vorik, would it?_”

There was a definite edge to her tone now. “Of course not,” Tom denied. He was over the _Vorik incident_ years ago. Really. Years. Besides, she’d married _him_ so the pointy-eared little fungus could go and meditate on that!

“_It’s just that I’ve been waiting all morning for this report, and I really need to read it over._”

“Umm…”

“_You don’t mind if we pick up where we left off later do you?_”

“Of course not. I understand.”

“_Okay._”

He heard the double click that told him she’d logged off without even so much as a goodbye. Well. It was okay though. He needed the time to come up with a new fantasy, anyway.

***

“_I’ve got one._”

He was reading up on Darnay’s disease, doing his assigned reading, and jumped when B’Elanna’s voice came over the comm.

“_You’re sleeping, and I come home from a late shift. I undress in the living room because I don’t want to disturb you. The lights are off, and all I can see as I move toward the bedroom are the stars out the viewport, and you on our bed. The blanket is down by your hips, and you look like you’re glowing under the nightlights._”

Warmth crawled up Tom’s spine, and his mouth stretched into a smile. Was it possible he’d been had?

“_I sit slowly on the bed; I don’t want to disturb you. You look so peaceful, almost angelic, but I know better._”

Yeah. She sure did. 

“_I lean down and smell you. Your body is warm, your scent is in my nose. You’re mine, loDnal, and I feel dizzy with wanting you._”

Tom inhaled sharply as a curl of desire tightened his belly. He loved it when she spoke Klingon. His fingers flexed spontaneously.

“_My mouth is open and I taste your skin. You’re salty, familiar. I kiss your throat, and my breasts are pressed against your chest and the rough hair makes my nipples so hard they ache._”

Oh, yes please, Tom thought. 

“_I kiss your smooth forehead, your eyelids, your nose. You’re awake, and you reach for me but I grasp your wrists and push your arms back down on the bed._

“_I lick my way down your chest. I put my lips on your nipple and suck, and I feel the muscles in your stomach clench. Your body jerks. I kiss your ribs, and your chest hair tickles my cheeks. I want to bite you, but I’m holding myself back._”

Tom’s stomach muscles clenched then and he definitely jerked. His hands shook. He put down the PADD before he dropped it. 

“_I work my way down your stomach. You want me to put my tongue in your navel, but I don’t. Not yet. I know that you like it; I know that it makes you shiver. I want you to beg me. I want you to need it._”

Oh, god. He could feel her lips on his stomach, her tongue grazing his skin leaving a damp trail that cooled in the air. He sucked a breath.

“_Tom? Are you still with me?_”

Hell yes! “Yeah,” he grunted. He heard her chuckle.

“_I lick the skin around your navel, draw a curving line around one side, then I move downward._”

His hands were definately shaking, and he balled them into fists and deliberately placed them on the top of the desk. Bad enough someone walks in when he has a hard-on the size of an electron resonance scanner, he could not be caught with his hands in his pants! 

“Your breathing is getting faster, and you’re shifting beneath me, and you thrust your hips toward me. You're begging me to suck you.”

Ohdeargod. Tom squeezed his eyes closed and took a deep, shaky breath. 

_I love your cock, Tom. The taste of it on my tongue, the feel of it in my mouth. I love it when you fill me, when you fuck me and make me—_”

“_All hands, yellow alert._” Harry’s voice came over the comm, killing the mood instantly. “_We’ve picked up a distress call and will rendezvous, ETA, forty minutes. Duty shift, report to stations.”_

_***_

Nine hours later, they were in their quarters sitting cuddled together on their couch with the remains of their dinner on the coffee table in front of them. It had been a long day, and they were both tired. B’Elanna had logged off shift before Tom, and had already showered and dressed in her nightgown and robe by the time he finally came in. He’d headed directly for the shower and, as she programmed their dinner into the replicator, she heard water running. She was tempted to join him. It was true that she preferred the tingle of sonic waves, but it was also true that she liked to run her fingers through Tom’s wet hair, and she loved how his skin felt when it was damp and flushed pink from the hot water. 

They’d ate beef stew with crusty bread, then afterwards she’d leaned into his solid warmth and pillowed her head on his shoulder. 

“Is everyone going to be okay?” she asked.

”Yeah. The Doc has it under control, and Perkins has gamma shift. We beamed all but two of the patients back to their ship this afternoon.”

“I heard they were kind of… well…”

“They looked like…” He would not say Vidiians, but it was a good descriptor. If, along with their Frankensteined bodies their flesh looked like it was rotting. “Like zombies.”

Her eyebrow rose and she lifted her head off his shoulder to smirk at him. “Really?” 

“I swear. Their skin was a kind of greyish-greenish colour and _bits_ fell off.” Her eyes went round and her face scrunched in revulsion. “I’m not kidding. I know that they’re people and we’ve seen some odd things in the Delta Quadrant, but if it weren’t my training, I might have run screaming. It made me wish medics still wore gloves.”

“Ew. I mean,” she demurred, “I feel kind of ashamed of myself for thinking it, but ew.”

“Yeah. They had a kind of a… tang, too.”

“Okay, enough. Stop.” She put a hand on her belly and closed her eyes, and her face scrunched up. “I want to keep my dinner down.””/p> 

“They were intelligent, though. Articulate.”

“Great.” She nodded and settled her head back on his shoulder. 

“No reports to review tonight?” he asked, noting the distinct lack of PADDs stacked on the coffee table. 

“No.”

“Good. Want to watch some television?”

“Sure,” she agreed. 

“Cartoons?” He needed something silly to get his mind off today’s extended shift in sickbay. 

“How about a movie?” She reached into the pocket of her robe and handed him a memory stick. 

“You came prepared.” Tom smiled as a wash of tenderness and love flowed over him. He was a lucky man.

She shrugged. “I thought you might like it, after today.”

He kissed her temple and stood, then pulled the television closer and inserted the chip. He sat back on the couch and she snuggled against him just as the center of the screen started to lighten in an expanding circle. He lifted his arm and wound it around her shoulders, and hugged her closer. Her belly pushed against his ribs and thigh, and her warmth radiated through his pyjama pants and tee shirt. 

A crescendo swelled then dropped to near silence as the credits rolled. 

_TED V. MIKELS FILM PRODUCTIONS PRESENTS_

_A FILM BY TED V. MIKELS_

__

He gave her shoulder a little squeeze, and she glanced at him and smiled. 

__

“Popcorn?” he asked.

__

“No thanks.”

__

_DIRECTED BY TED V. MIKELS_

__

Tom glanced at his wife and she smiled then looked pointedly back at the screen.

__

_SCREENPLAY BY TED V. MIKELS_

__

He raised an eyebrow.

__

_THE ASTRO-ZOMBIES!!!!!_

__

Tom burst out laughing. B’Elanna leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I helped their chief engineer realign their propulsion systems with their deflector array. He was a very knowledgeable man. I replicated a couple of parts for them and we had them up and running in no time.”

__

_STARRING JOHN CARRADINE AS DR. DEMARCO_

__

“We are terrible people,” Tom said.

__

_WENDELL COREY AS HOLMAN_

__

“We really are,” B’Elanna giggled.” 

_ROD WILMOTH AS ASTRO-ZOMBIE_

“The captain would be very disappointed in us.”

“Very,” she agreed.

He kissed her again, then settled in to watch terror stalk the streets as a scientist’s human-transplantation experiment ran amok.


	2. “Just follow me, I know the area.”/candle-wax play/explosion/urban legend

Day 2:

“Just follow me, I know the area.”/candle-wax play/explosion/urban legend

“Just follow me, I know the area.”

_Voyager_ had set down on an uninhabited Class H planet, a small world that resembled Ocampa except for the clusters of scrubby brush that dotted the rocky, uneven ground. It was definitely _not_ anywhere close to a Class M. Tom had spent the last few hours gathering what edible plants this dust bowl offered, trailing Neelix and his line of _ducklings_, and dreaming up new and exciting holodeck programmes. Private programmes. He decided he wouldn’t want to be stranded on this chunk of sand and rock, not even with the slave girls from Planet 10. 

Since the two crews (plus Neelix and the lovely Kes) had been forced to band together after Captain Janeway destroyed their only way home in a tooth-rattling explosion (an Earth-shattering _ka-boom!_ if Tom’d ever seen one), the captain and Chakotay had been tasked with the problem of finding something useful for the surplus Maquis crew to do. Cleaning carpets and picking fruit seemed to be the only jobs on (or off) a starship that didn’t require an Academy diploma. Though, the fruit picking did require some instruction, which was why they were following Neelix into what appeared to be a Hellmouth on this piece-of-crap rock. Chakotay had assigned him, as a senior officer and per Starfleet protocol, to keep an eye on them (more proof that Chakotay hated him and was hoping for his quick death), so he was dutifully bringing up the rear. 

“Right this way. Does everyone have their wrist lamps?”

Neelix’ words were only slightly garbled by the small respirator mask they were all required to wear because the planet’s oxygen/argon atmosphere didn’t have quite enough of the elemental gases required to support humanoid (as Tom knew it) life. At least not for long.

“It’s going to be dark in there!” He sounded delighted at the prospect.

They were at the mouth of a cave whose sloped opening and jagged surface did remind him of a mouth full of teeth. It was dripping a sticky-looking viscous substance, and Tom found himself wishing he’d worn a hat. Or an EVA suit. 

“This way,” Neelix said again, his voice taking on a high vibrato, likely courtesy of the respirator. Tom and a clutch of crewmen paused at the cave opening, and shone their wrist lamps into the gloom. 

“It’s perfectly safe, as long as you don’t let that stuff touch your skin.” Neelix smiled cheerfully.

Tom’s eyebrow shot up. 

“There’s an old,” there was a slight pause as the universal translator struggled to accommodate Neelix’ turn of phrase (it wasn’t quite conversent in Talaxian yet), “urban legend that tells of a young man, just on the cusp of adulthood, who didn’t listen to his parents’ warnings to stay away from the caves. Apparently, the tastiest, bluest, firmest pokkel slugs breed in the sludge at the edge of the slime pits.”

Tom’s stomach did a little flip-flop. He sincerely hoped they weren’t hunting pokkel slugs. 

“One day, after a particularly acrimonious argument with his second-father and primary-aunt, he ran off to collect some, to prove to his hive-clutch that he was old enough to provide for the podlings. 

“Well, no one knows _exactly_ what happened to him. They didn’t find much beyond a flipper bone and his hat. But everyone assumed that he slipped into the slime pit and was immediately dissolved.”

Tom unbuckled his tricorder and waved it in front of the slime-drips. Amino acids, glycosylated proteins, water, salts. Nothing that would dissolve flesh and bone in these concentrations. 

“They built a little shrine to him, to serve as a remembrance but also a warning to the younglings! And from that day onward, the entire tribe knew to stay clear of the caves.” Neelix looked pointedly at every member of their band of roving gleaners, then his face split in a grin. “Follow me!”

If the natives stayed clear of the flesh-dissolving slime, where did they go? Tom wondered. Neither ship’s scans nor his own visual survey showed any clues that this planetoid had hosted higher life (unless you counted the pokkel slugs). He followed Chell into the darkness. The big Bolian had balked (the big, bulky Bolian had balked?) but Tom had given him his best ‘Janeway’ stare and the gentle giant had meekly followed Gerron inside, but not before the ‘snoticle’ had dripped some of the slime onto Tom’s uniformed arm. His uniform didn’t dissolve, his arm didn’t burn. He was tempted to thrust his elbow under Neelix’s nose, but if he realized that the stuff wasn’t corrosive, he might get it into his head that they should harvest it, too (slime stew with pokkel slugs on a bed of leola root mash).

The beams from their wrist lights threw shadows onto the rough cave walls, and the place transformed from ‘gloomy’ to ‘creepy’. Tom turned in a slow circle, scanning the area with his tricorder: limestone, dolomite, more slime, traces of methane and hydrogen. He bumped into Jonas mid-turn and frowned. The Maquis (brave and daring) were bunched up together near the cave mouth in the small patch of natural light. Jonas was jostled, and the beam of his wrist lamp danced on the far wall, making the shadows jerk; it looked like a cave-creature was stepping out of the shadows and getting ready to grab them. Tom started, then filed the impression away for future a holodeck novel. 

“Over here, come along now,” Neelix chirped. 

Tom exchanged a look with Dalby and motioned for him to get moving. Really, it wasn’t so bad. Except for the stench (that would be the methane), and the places where the cave roof dipped and tried to brain him in the head. They followed their native guide silently, the only sounds their breathing (which was becoming more laboured by the minute) and their footfalls which echoed off the rock walls. Creepy. Distinctly disturbing. The back of Tom’s neck tingled. His gut tightened. He was creeping himself out. 

Neelix stooped and rolled a large rock out of the way, then contorted himself to stare at the wall. Tom shone his light in that direction, and revealed a crack in the stone wide enough to stick your hand in (if you dare) that started at ground level and rose toward the ceiling. He could swear his light caught the red flash of eyes inside the hole, but scans hadn’t recorded any mammalian or amphibious life forms. He traced the crack to a meter up the stone surface. Tom felt a breeze around his boot tops.

“Here we are!” 

Neelix dug a short flip knife and a clear container out of a small duffle bag that he had slung over his shoulder, and poked the blade into the crack. He pried what Tom thought was some sort of fungus off the cave wall. It came loose with a loud _pop!_. 

“A truckle berry. Very tasty steamed with a little juka spice on top!” Neelix handed it around. 

When it came to the end of the line—Tom—Chell tossed it at him in his haste to not touch it. Tom caught it one-handed, and peered at it closely. It peered back. He almost dropped it. It wasn’t a mushroom, or a berry, it was some sort of snail-thing with a squishy, spongy shell and antennae. His stomach lurched. 

“But don’t eat it before it’s cooked,” Neelix cautioned. “It’s loaded with toxins that can make you sick in an instant.” He placed a hand on his belly and pantomimed heaving and gasping, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, then smiled again. “As a matter of fact, you all might want to wash your hands after handling it. Thoroughly.”

He took it from Tom, and placed it in the container and snapped the lid tight. “Just in case,” he said. 

His palm light blinked out.

“Hmm… That’s odd. You’d think Starfleet protocols would be more stringent about power cells being fully charged. I’ll have to speak with Captain Janeway about being properly prepared before our next away mission. The Talaxian way.” 

Tom pulled out his tricorder again. It was at eighteen percent and dropping rapidly. He waved it at the crack in the stone and frowned. “Damn,” he said. “There must be a pool of contriveium on the other end of this crevice. It’s leaking into this chamber and disrupting the electro-magnetic flow in our instruments.”

Gerron’s wrist lamp winked out, followed by Dalby’s. Chell’s flickered and he smacked it, and it came back on brighter than before. “I am an engineer,” he shrugged.

“I have just the thing,” Neelix chortled. “Foolproof technology.”

Tom continued to scan the cavern. Stepping back and away from the rest of the group, he aimed his tricorder at the ceiling.

“I’m reading a buildup of methane molecules.”

He turned back toward the group of Maquis (and Talaxian). In the waning light of his palm light, Tom watched as Neelix drew a fat candle and a flame stick from his bag. He knew instantly what he was about to do, and the explosive consequences it could have!

“Wait, Neelix, don’t!” Tom called. 

“Huh?” 

Neelix turned toward him, lit match held to the candle wick. It ignited with a brilliant, blinding flare, and Tom shot out a hand to grab it from him. His fingers wrapped around Neelix’ furry wrist (a delightful sensation) and jerked, and burning hot candle wax splattered across his fingers and (non-furred) wrist. 

“Gah! Shit!” Tom howled in a distinctly un-Starfleet manner. He brought his fingers to his mouth in a knee-jerk (arm-jerk?) involuntary reaction and sucked on his rapidly blistering digits. He tasted something metallic. And sour. Followed by a cloying sickly-sweetness. His mouth filled with saliva and his stomach muscles convulsed. 

A wave of heat washed over him. Oh, no.

He ran to the cave opening, clutching his stomach, and ripped off his respirator and vomited in an explosion of spittle and stomach acid and this mornings’ ration pack number 5 (oatmeal with figs and almonds). He was squatting, elbows on knees, hands supporting his face, sucking air through his teeth when Chell came up behind him. 

“Oh dear,” he said. “You got it in the slime pit.”

“Hmmm…” Neelix added, “I hope it doesn’t harm the pokkel slugs.”

“It might be what they need to take the next step on the evolutionary ladder,” Dalby mused. 

“A little human DNA? If we come back in a million years, do you think they’ll have evolved warp technology?” Chell posited.

Tom groaned. 

“I told you not to taste the truckle berries without cooking them first. Really, Lieutenant Paris, I’d have thought your Star Fleet would have prepared you for first contact situations. It’s a good thing you have me along as your guide!”


	3. “Now? Now you listen to me?”/tentacles/delirium/scary lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is just downright silly.

Day 3: “Now? Now you listen to me?”/tentacles/delirium/scary lake

“Now? Now you listen to me?” Tom Paris squeaked as the tentacles of the baby giant-squid-like-creature wrapped around him and squeezed.

“Yes, you were right, I should have stayed out of the lake.”

“Hatching pond, Neelix. There were signs posted! And I warned you in the briefing.”

“But the water looked so cool and inviting. And you have to admit that it’s awfully hot and humid here.”

“That lake looked terrifying! It’s dark and full of that slimy stuff that the hatchlings eat. It’s steaming! Not to mention it’s full of these… things. Creatures. Beings.” Tom fumbled for an appropriate noun as the ‘baby’ cephalopod squeezed them again. “_Urrgh,_ he grunted. “And what possessed you to try to catch one?”

“Well, you have to agree he would have been tasty sauteed and served with a light mokit sauce—_urk!_ I didn’t realize they were the sentient life form on this planet.”

“You would have if you’d listened to me in the _ugh_ briefing.”

“Yes, well, next time I’ll be sure to review the notes.”

“The universal translator goes both ways, Neelix. And, in the Federation at least, it’s impolite to talk about eating someone’s baby—_Ow!_ my ribs, for dinner.” Tom moaned.

“Oh! Oh! What just happened? Are you alright, Tom?” 

Neelix wiggled but the suction cup-like protuberances on the tentacled arms of the toddler decapus held fast. The baby lifted them into the air and bounced them up and down, and Neelix’ legs kicked futilely. Its eyestalks undulated with glee.

“Well, how was I to know its mother was right, _unk_ there?”

“My youngling approves of her playmates, Captain Janeway,” the aforementioned mother said.

“She does appear to, doesn’t she? Is that a smile?” The captain leaned toward the daughter and rightful heir of the sovereign of the planetary system, it’s moons and asteroid belt, and all the varied life that dwelled within. “Is that a happy smile I see?” she cooed.

The baby bounced her playmates again. Tom’s hair flopped up and down and his teeth rattled. “C-c-a-a-a-ptain!” he pleaded.

“Perhaps my youngling is playing too roughly?” the Empress suggested.

The heir pulled Tom closer and opened its cavernous maw. Its lips fluttered over Tom’s cheeks as it sucked the top of his head into its mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought down a scream.

“Oh no,” Janeway denied. “They’re fine. Are you alright, Tom?” She turned toward their host with a smile. “See? He’s enjoying it just as much as the Dauphine.”

“_Urrrrrrruuuuggghhhhhrrrrrr,_” Neelix added.

“Tom, open your eyes,” Kes implored him.

And get squid slime in them? No way, he thought.

“Oh dear, this is all my fault,” Neelix added.

You’re right about that! Tom fumed.

“Tom, you need to open your eyes. Please,” B’Elanna repeated.

Great, now B’Elanna was here too? He’d never get her to agree to go on a date with him after this humiliation. His coiffure would never be the same. 

“You're going to be alright,” the Doctor said. 

Did a shuttle just pull up and unload? How many of the crew were standing around watching him being used as a chew toy, anyway? Spittle dripped into his eyes and down his cheeks. At least it felt cool. Neelix was right, the planet was awfully hot.

The ruffled gills inside the Dauphine’s mouth massaged Tom’s forehead, and one vestigial fore-tentacle caressed his chin. His head popped out of its mouth and it shook him. Tom’s whole head flopped this time. Baby spittle sprayed. 

“I really think you should wake up now, Tom,” the Doctor chided. 

“I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

“Shoulda ‘isten t’me, Ne’lix,” Tom mumbled.

“Oh, I will next time. No mokit sauce for you.”

“Was it an allergic reaction?” Janeway asked.

Tom’s eyes fluttered open and he gazed into B’Elanna’s face. She looked concerned. “Y’shud stay back, B’Lana,” he slurred, “The Do’fin mi’ grab you…”

“Dolphin?” she asked, her forehead creasing in confusion. She shared a glance with Kes, who adjusted the cool cloth on his forehead. 

“Why’m I here?” He didn’t remember getting into an accident, but his head felt swollen, and he was sure he had leola root mash stuffed in his ears.

“We were eating lunch and you turned purple and collapsed,” B’Elanna said.

“You were out, just like that!” Neelix snapped his fingers.

“You hit the deck pretty hard,” B’Elanna added. “I think you were dreaming; what was that about a dolphin?”

“He reacted to something in the latest concoction you served to the crew, Mister Neelix. He was delirious.” 

He pressed a hypo to Tom’s neck with a _hssss_ and Tom felt instant relief. “Delirious?” Well, that explained the giant squid-thing-being-princess. “I bet it was the tentacles,” Tom muttered.

“Well, it’s true they were starting to go just a _touch_ off, but with enough sauce you don’t even notice.”

“I warned you I can’t eat seafood, Neelix.” Tom was starting to feel a little better and he sat up slowly. B’Elanna offered her hand for support. It was warm and dry, with callouses on her palm and fingertips. He felt a little spark shoot up his arm to his elbow.

“Well, now, technically, though they do spend a great deal of time in the water, they are classified as land animals,” Neelix clarified. 

“Do you see any dark spots, Lieutenant? Bright flashes? Any tingling in your limbs?” the Doctor asked.

A little. Tom smiled at B’Elanna and she smiled halfheartedly back. “I’m fine.”

“Is he fit for duty?” Janeway asked.

“Probably. But I’m releasing him to quarters until tomorrow morning anyway.” The Doctor attached a cortical monitor to Tom’s neck. “Kes can escort you in a moment.” He directed the last comment to Tom.

“I’ll take him,” B’Elanna said.

“Alright. But I want you to rest, Mister Paris. No galavanting in the ship’s gym, or riding dolphins in the holodeck.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he stays in bed,” B’Elanna assured him.

Tom could think of one way for her to keep him there, no tentacles required. Though, if she ever wanted to chew on him, he was game!


	4. “I know you didn't ask for this.”/begging/human shield/black cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my morning coffee klatch for the inspiration. This is the road I veered off. 
> 
> An ode to an oldy by Cerise with a little Firefly thrown in too, I think.

Day 4: “I know you didn't ask for this.”/begging/human shield/black cat

###

“I know you didn’t ask for this—”

“Then why are you making me do it?”

Chakotay sighed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other in an uncharacteristic show of impatience. “Because you’re the best person for the job.” The edge to his voice betrayed his impatience, too. 

B’Elanna’s chin came up in challenge, perfectly illustrating why he’d chosen her for this particular mission. “I’m an engineer, Chakotay, not a secret agent. Why can’t Seska do it?”

“Because I need her for something else. Because she doesn’t speak the language. And because I’m ordering you to do it.”

He saw it in her eyes, a brief flash of anger and jealousy, before she glanced away, jaw tight, hands balled into fists. He softened his stance and placed his hand on her shoulder, squeezed. “You’re the only one I trust with this, B’Elanna. I sure as hell don’t trust _him_. I need you for this mission.”

It could have been that faith, or the stupid, lingering crush, but it was probably because he was the only person besides her mother who pronounced her name correctly. 

“Why don’t you trust him?”

“Because he’s former Starfleet.”

She tilted her head to the right and raised an eyebrow. “So are you. So am I.” 

He smiled. “Rumour has it, they’re trying to insert spies in our ranks. We’re becoming an embarrassment.”

“If you think he’s a spy, why am I bothering to go get him?”

“Because he’s an ace pilot. He was a member of Nova Squadron when he was in the Academy. We need good pilots.”

This was true. “So, why isn’t he still in Starfleet?”

Chakotay sighed again. “There was some sort of accident and a coverup. He was discharged.”

“An accident?” Her eyes widened. “Bad enough for him to be tossed out of Starfleet? I thought you said he was a _good_ pilot.” Her mouth twisted in a smirk.

“Enough,” Chakotay insisted, cutting off her argument. His patience was wearing thin. “Just go get him.” 

“Fine.” She crossed her arms and jutted out a hip, B’Elanna Torres for, I’ll do it but I don’t fucking want to. “Where?”

“Veloz Prime. A bar in Kejal sector. We’ll set down at the port and wait for you.”

She bristled, her jaw jutting forward again. “A bar? You don't expect me to dress like a _Sli’Vak_—”

“You look fine.”

Their eyes locked for a moment before she looked away. “Which bar?”

“The_ vlghro’ qlj_.”

She sighed, and he saw that she finally gave in. ‘What’s his name?”

“Tom Paris.”

###

He’d been waiting for hours, nursing each drink for as long as was humanly possible, but this was his third goblet of _’lw Hlq_ and he was starting to feel it. He prided himself on being an accomplished drinker—he had to find pride in something, his ego demanded it—and handling his booze came as naturally as breathing to him. He was a fucking expert, could teach a class at the Academy. He snorted. 

He’d showed up outside the_** vlghro’ qlj**_ a little before the arranged pick-up time, waiting in the gloom of a nearby alley. He’d watched customers enter and leave for twenty minutes before he saw a likely subject. He’d followed the man in, a tough-looking Bajoran, but he’d gone immediately to a table with two couples and a woman who’d obviously been waiting for him. Once inside, Tom couldn’t turn around again and leave, not if he wanted to meet his fellow conspirator there. His fellow ‘rebellious collaborator’. His mouth twisted in a little smile when he imagined what his father would think of that: his blue-eyed boy, the pride of the Paris _house_, turned Maquis scum.

Where the fuck was his contact? He was starting to attract attention: the lone Human in a Klingon bar in a Bajoran town. If he’d been thinking, he’d have worn an earring as cover. A group of young warriors at a nearby table had been watching him for the last half hour while they got steadily drunker. Tom, seated on a stool at the bar, was doing his best to keep an eye on them while not appearing to watch them. He wondered if he could leap over the bartop to get away from them if he needed to. Of course, then he’d be cornered.

“There you are!”

An indignant female voice vented its anger in his left ear at the same moment as small, strong fingers clamped onto his arm and spun him. Tom slipped off the stool and grabbed for the bartop to steady himself.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, _loDnal_.” 

A small, fiery, bundle of ire stood in front of him, dark eyes blazing, ridged forehead creased in a formidable frown. 

“And drunk too? This is how you spend money that was supposed to buy our food?!” 

Her hands were on her hips now, her luscious mouth pinched in a hard line. She barely came up to his ears, but he suspected she was more of a threat than the young bucks at the next table. 

She tilted her head, rounded her eyes and sent him a pointed look. “Everyone is waiting for you.”

They were attracting attention. The volume in the place had dropped, and Tom could feel the eyes of the customers near the bar on them. He dredged up what little Klingon he knew and tried a smile. “Listen, _be’_, I think you have me confu—”

“Do I need to keep you on a leash like a pet _tika_ cat to keep you from straying, _loDnal_?” 

There was a roar of laughter from the table of Klingons, and Tom watched two of them elbow a third: the one who’d been showing too much interest in him earlier. The one who hadn’t laughed at the woman’s last comment. Tom looked back at her. Wait, _loDnal_ was Klingon for husband. She was his contact! He had to admit that playing indignant wife was likely the easiest, quickest way to remove him from the bar with the least amount of curiosity. Sure, they were attracting attention, but anyone questioned later would only remember the show, not the players. 

“You know I don’t like to be tied down, _be’nal_,” he answered, his voice honey smooth. “At least, not with leather.” She appeared shocked by that, her eyes widening, but he wasn’t sure if it was by his use of Klingon, or the suggestion that she tie him up with something softer than a leather strap. “Come sit with me, sweetheart, I have a drink to finish.” 

He reached for her, and slid his palm over her suede-clad hip and up under her vest to the small of her back. He tried pulling her into a hug but she resisted. 

“Our friends are waiting,” she said again. 

Her body had stiffened when he’d touched her, but she was trying to hide it. She wasn’t melting against him, her mate, her _par’Machkai_, the love of her life, but she wasn’t pushing him away either.

Tom heard the scrape of chairlegs on the floor, then a booming baritone. “What is a daughter of the Empire doing with a _gagh Sopbe’_?”

The woman whirled, her body taking on a defensive stance, hands clenched into fists, jaw tight. “I don’t eat _gagh_ either. Are you saying I’m not Klingon?”

Shit. This was not the kind of attention he wanted. “Maybe we should leave after all, honey,” Tom suggested.

“I’m saying that one like you deserves better than a Human _petaQ_ for a mate.” The burly Klingon reached for the smaller woman and she stepped to the side to evade him. 

Fuck, Tom thought. A bar brawl with a group of drunk Klingons wasn’t exactly what he had in mind as an extraction technique. “Sweet pea?” he said, trying to keep his voice even, “You were right, people are expecting us.” He was talking to her, but he kept his eyes on the Klingon. “I’m begging you, hun, let’s not start something we don’t—”

The youth reached for her again, and Tom shouldered his way in front of her. “Get away from my wife.” Tom stared him down, hoping like hell the kid wasn’t as drunk as he appeared. Tom straightened his back and pushed out his chest, trying to look as large as he could. He was almost two metres tall himself, but he felt like a kid himself beside this hulking young warrior.

The Klingon curled his lip. “And who will make me, _tika_ cat, you?” 

He grabbed Tom by the shirtfront and pulled him up onto his toes. Tom’s head snapped back from the force of it, and his teeth clacked together. 

“Remove your hands from my mate before I slice them off!” 

His ‘wife’ grabbed the Klingon’s arm and shoved him. He let go, and Tom staggered backward. He reached for her, but she was chest to… belly with the tough young idiot. 

“Ha! Where is your blade?” the idiot sneered.

Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t back down. “I was planning to use yours…” 

If Tom thought the atmosphere was tense before, it was downright taut now. He held his breath, expecting the young Klingon to attack at that. Tom thought there was no way he would let that insult pass, but to his relief the man threw back his head in laughter.

“Why are you with this _Qa’Hom_? I would be a much better mate for one like you than a Human.” He almost spat the word. “I would defend your honour!”

“He is a warrior in the bedchamber.” She reached out and grabbed Tom by the wrist. “I can defend my honour myself.” 

The Klingon didn’t seem overly pleased with that statement, but he didn’t challenge it. “Yes, I see that you can.” 

He nodded, his gaze lingering on her as he walked back to his table and sat. One of his friends pounded him on the back and called for more bloodwine. 

“Wow, sweet thing,” Tom said, “I didn’t think we’d pull that off.” As entertaining as the last ten minutes had been, he needed to be sure she was who he thought she was before he went out the door with her. He pulled her into a hug—it was like embracing a warp nacelle—and whispered in her ear, “You are the person I was supposed to meet, right, mystery woman?”

She raised her hands to his chest and pushed, but he held her tightly. “You’re named for an Earth city. Which one?” she asked.

He stared into her dark eyes for a moment, realizing just how gorgeous she was. This Chakotay was an idiot for risking her in this dive. He wondered what she’d do if he gave her the wrong answer. Always best to tell the truth; he’d learned that the hard way. “Paris.”

She didn’t so much as twitch in acknowledgement. 

He nuzzled her throat, skimmed his lips over her jaw. He hoped like hell she was crew on his ship and not just some starry-eyed local that Chakotay was using to rope in stray recruits. Though she didn’t know it, she wasn’t wrong about that bedchamber comment, and he sincerely hoped he’d get the chance to prove it to her.

“Not here, _loDnal_.” She’d raised her voice again, and she pushed away from him. He let go of her only a little reluctantly. “Our friends…”

“Are waiting.” Tom nodded. He picked up a small duffle bag from the floor, and placed a hand on her shoulder, his fingers caressing the back of her neck. He moved with her toward the door. “Let’s go, babe.”

As soon as they stepped out into the street, she shifted to the side and whirled to face him. “My name is B’Elanna, Paris. And if you touch me again, I’ll—”

“Cut my hand off? Got it.” Tom nodded. “Sorry, _be’nal_. I got a little carried away.”

She snorted and her body jerked, but she didn’t say anything to that.

“Where are we meeting Cha—”

“Our ‘friends’ are over here.” She’d begun walking down the street at a good clip, not appearing to care if she was following him or not. “We’re loaded and ready to go. How drunk are you?”

Tom was a little insulted by the suggestion. “I’m not.” 

She was all business now, no trace of either the warrior woman or the loving mate. “So, you can fly without causing a crash?”

He flinched slightly at that. How much did Chakotay’s contact know about his history? “Yes.”

“Good. Because I just spent the last two weeks putting the _Liberty_ back together. I’d hate to have you fly it into a moon.” 

“Back together?”

“I’m the chief engineer. Who did you think I was?” 

There was a challenge in the look she shot him, but he wasn’t about to accept it: he’d seen her in action. They rounded a corner and walked swiftly past rows of small spacecraft parked on numbered docking slips. She stopped in front of one, and opened a small compartment near the landing struts and reached inside. A hatch in the hull slid open, and a ramp extended from a hidden compartment in the deck. 

“Come on,” she said. She strode up the ramp and was swiftly swallowed by the gloom inside the ship. 

Liberty, Tom thought. It meant freedom. He hoped. He tightened his grip on the strap of the bag and stepped onto the ramp.

##


	5. “I might just kiss you.”/temperature play-anal play - glory hole / gunpoint / haunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made it with 50 minutes to spare!

Day 5: “I might just kiss you.”/temperature play-anal play - glory hole / gunpoint / haunted

***

“You beauty! I might just kiss you!”

The lights came back on blindingly bright after the dimness of the emergency lighting, and the familiar humm of the air recycler clicked on. Ordinarily so faint that it wasn’t even noticed, when life support went out the silence was deafening. 

“Just another regular Saturday night,” B’Elanna observed. She sidestepped the disassembled floor panel and took the isospanner that Tom extended toward her. 

He grinned. “I was talking to the _Delta Flyer_, but if you want a kiss…”

“Please, you two,” Harry complained, “show some restraint. You’re not alone, remember. Your honeymoon was over two weeks ago.”

“Ah, now Harry,” Tom chided, “we may be back on duty, but the honeymoon isn’t over.” He reached for his wife’s waist and pulled her in for a chaste peck on the cheek. 

“Ohhh, that was adorable,” Neelix chortled, his cheeks glowing orange with glee. “Wasn’t that adorable?”

“Yeah, you should be writing this down,” Harry grumped. 

“Tips from the master,” Tom confirmed. “I’m just a Renaissance kind of guy, Harry: I dodge asteroids, provide air and heat, romance beautiful women.” 

“Women?” B’Elanna’s eyebrow climbed upwards. 

“Woman,” Tom corrected. “There’s only been one woman for me for the last three years.”

“Well, that earned you another kiss.” 

She smiled and presented her other cheek, and Tom maneuvered around the high, stiff metal collar of her EV suit to kiss her again. “You know, if we lose gravity again, I could clip us together. It would be just like old times: you, me, our suits. We could share a little oxygen.” He waggled the end of his suit’s tether and grinned. “And if you wander too far away, I could reel you back in.”

“That works both ways. It would keep you from straying.”

“My wandering days are done, Mrs Paris.” 

She snorted at that and rolled her eyes. 

“Hey, Romeo, how about you wander over here and hand me that power cell, then give me a hand with the subspace transmitter?” Harry held out his hand and waited until Tom dropped the cell into his palm, then awkwardly turned back to the hidden console in the ceiling of the _’Flyer_ and reached inside. 

“When will our distress call reach _Voyager_?” Neelix asked. 

“No more than ten or twelve hours,” B’Elanna answered, “depending on whether or not they’re already on their way to the rendezvous.” 

“Well. We have air, soon we’ll have heat, and we have the best that Starfleet has to offer in gastronomic delicacies.” Neelix stood and moved to the aft compartment, and returned a few moments later with several foil packets. “Is anyone hungry? Let’s see, we have ‘oatmeal with figs and almonds’, ‘chicken curry’, or ‘blackened sea scallops with green onions and roasted tomatoes’. Oh my,” he exclaimed, “that sounds delicious!”

Tom wrinkled his nose. “You don’t have any pepperoni pizza back there, do you, Neelix?”

“Sorry. But if you can get the replicators back online…?”

“We barely have enough power for life support and shields.” B’Elanna shook her head. “I’ll take the chicken.” Neelix handed her the silver foil packet, and she walked back down the ramp and sat in the pilot’s seat. She set her dinner aside between the joysticks and turned back to the sensor panel.

“Got it,” Harry said. “Send it now, B’Elanna.”

She tapped the console to her right. “Sent.”

Tom plopped into the seat at the science station and held out a hand toward Neelix. “Surprise me.”

“Here you go.” Neelix smiled as he handed him his dinner. 

Harry was bending over to replace the ‘spanner in his tool kit when the recessed panel he’d just repaired exploded in a shower of sparks. He ducked. “Damn it!” he said, “The magnetic relays keep overloading.” 

“Unfortunately, life support is about all we’re going to get working until we get back to _Voyager_,” B’Elanna said. 

“Which will be sometime tomorrow, provided they get our distress call,” Harry sighed.

“It sent. They’ll get it.” B’Elanna assured him. 

“I was just really looking forward to my holodeck time tonight.”

“Hot date?” Tom waggled his eyebrows. 

“No. I was going to try a new programme that came in on the last datastream, that’s all.”

“New programme?” B’Elanna’s eyebrows rose in interest. “What new programme, Harry? Slave Girls of Planet Ten?” She grinned at Tom.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. “No.” 

“You can tell us, Harry. We’re an old, boring married couple now, we need to live vicariously through you.” Tom gave him a nudge with his booted foot.

“If you must know, its a training programme.”

“A training programme? What are you studying?” Neelix had settled near the aft door and was sniffing the contents of his ration packet. 

“It’s,” he hesitated, then gave in to the three sets of eyes trained on him. “It’s an adventure programme: the highlights of James T. Kirk’s historic five-year mission on the Enterprise.”

“And you play Kirk?” Tom grinned. “A noted Romeo.”

“I’m using it as a study tool. So I can, you know, make the best choices when I do my command shifts twice a week.”

“I’m sure you’ll be wonderful, Harry,” Neelix assured him. 

“It’s a lot of pressure, that’s all. I need to do a good job.”

Tom and B'Elanna exchanged a look. “I doubt you’ll still be an ensign when we get home, Harry,” B’Elanna said.

“Yeah,” Tom agreed. “You’re one of the youngest people on board. Once the rest of us all die of old age, I’m sure Captain Wildman’ll make you a Lieutenant.”

B’Elanna tossed a burned out isolinear chip at his head. Tom ducked and overbalanced in his bulky EV suit, and almost fell out of his chair. B’Elanna laughed, then swore as she dropped a forkful of chicken inside her suit.

“I can get that for you,” Tom offered.

“You’ve done enough,” Harry complained.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Harry?”

“Just that if you hadn’t flown us into an ion storm, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

“Hey, the polaric radiation fritzed the sensors. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Yes, and then the fubaric radiation from the storm fritzed everything else.”

“You know what we need to go with our dinner? Entertainment.” Neelix answered his own question. 

“Well, we don’t have a holodeck, and I didn’t bring my clarinet.”

“Stories.” Neelix clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. “That,” he said, pointing out the viewport at the glowing nebula a hundred thousand kilometers in front of them, “reminds me of a story that my grandfather used to tell me.”

“Why don’t you tell us, Neelix,” B’Elanna encouraged him. Tom sent her a soft smile: Neelix generally didn’t need any encouragement to tell a story.

“Well, when he was a young man, not much older than you were, Harry, when we first met, tensions between Talax and the Haakonian Order were heating up. We weren’t at war—not yet—but it was inevitable. My grandfather joined the military as soon as he was of age; he wanted to learn how to fly the combat ships, just in case. There was a huge swell of patriotism. 

“There was a nebula, near Mylea, about halfway between Haakonian space and Talax, with a spatial rift. The nebula was very much like this one, but with a micro wormhole the size of a clutx berry inside it,” he held his thumb and index fingers half a centimeter apart, “and the pilots used to use it to practise their weapons targeting.”

“Sounds a little dangerous to me,” Harry said. 

“Oh, it was,” Neelix agreed. “In fact, there’d been rumors for centuries of ships flying into the nebula and never returning. People believed that the nebula was haunted.” He raised his eyebrows toward his hair crest and bugged out his eyes.

“So, what happened?” B’Elanna asked. She glanced at Tom and he patted his lap, and she wrinkled her nose at him. He shrugged in a ‘you can’t blame a guy for trying’ gesture.

“One day, when my grandfather was flying with his squadron, they had just entered the nebula when suddenly, without warning, every one of their fighters lost power. They were dead in space, just drifting, staring at the Esteemed Anus.”

Harry choked on his oatmeal. “The what?!”

“The Glory Hole.” Neelix tilted his head and frowned in confusion at Harry. 

Tom snorted a laugh. “I think the translator is on the fritz too, Neelix.” He glanced at his wife, who was biting her lower lip, trying not to laugh. 

“Well, maybe it doesn’t quite translate? The Idolized Maw. That’s what my people called the micro wormhole.”

“Um, yeah,” B’Elanna nodded, fighting a laugh, “we figured that out. Just,” she flapped a hand, “go on.”

“Well, there they were, nine young men and women, in their combat fighters, just drifting closer to the Venerated Fissure,” there was a snort from cockpit and the sound of a foil packet crinkling, but Neelix carried on, “when all of a sudden, out of the swirling mists of the nebula, there was a Haakonian warship right in front of them!”

Harry leaned forward. “What did they do?”

“Well, there wasn’t much they could do. They didn’t have warp power, not even thrusters. Their communications were down so they couldn’t send out a message to the warship that they didn’t want any trouble. All they could do was sit there and wait.”

Harry shifted uneasily in his chair, and glanced out the _’Flyer’s_ viewport. 

“There was no reaction from the Haakonians. For long minutes they just hung there in space, their gunports trained on the fighters, then, suddenly, they changed course and flew away! And do you know what happened next?”

“Well, I hope you’re going to tell us,” B’Elanna said.

“Yeah, Neelix,” Tom added, “don’t leave us hanging.”

The chef, moral officer, ambassador, and storyteller paused a moment longer, then grinned. “Their ships powered up, just like that!” He snapped his fingers. “They made it back to Talax safe and sound.”

“That’s a great story, Neelix.” B’Elanna smiled warmly at her friend.

Harry glanced around the shuttle. “Shouldn’t our systems all come on now?”

“If only it were that easy,” Tom said.

A shrill _skreeeeee_ suddenly sounded, and Harry jumped. “Where…?” he asked.

“Over there,” B’Elanna pointed to the open door of the aft section, to the locker where their EV suits were kept. She stood and began to walk up the ramp toward the rear of the shuttle. “The helmets.”

“Voyager_ to the_ Delta Flyer. _Do you read us? Are you there, Tom? Repeat,_ Delta Flyer, _this is_ Voyager_ come in, Tom.”_

Tom had reached the locker and pulled a helmet from the shelf. He put it over his head, then held out a hand to B’Elanna who had joined him in the storage area. He put his arms around her and pulled her into a hug.

“_Voyager_, we’re here. We’re fine.”


	6. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”/feet - religious - cross-dressing/dragged away/the crypt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are getting stupider, sorry, but RL is hitting me harder this weekend than I anticipated. Actually, the whole month of October is a busy month for me. I’m pushing onward regardless. Ficaugust would have been great!
> 
> Also, it’s been strongly hinted that my lack of a degree in physics is showing. Just go with it.

Day 6:

“Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”/feet - religious - cross-dressing/dragged away/the crypt

***

“Yes, I am aware. Your point, Lieutenant?”

“I’m just saying this was a bad idea, that’s all,” Tom whispered. 

“As you have said it every thirty seconds for the last quarter of an hour, I believe I have ascertained that.”

“My feet are killing me in these sandals, and we’re not fooling anyone, Tuvok.” 

They were clumping along the winding, hard-packed cobbled street with an an ungainly gait, and Tom’s toes and heels hung off either end of the too-small shoes. They reminded him of the flip-flops Jenny Delaney wore in the Resort programme, but these were elevated off the ground by a good fifteen centimeters and Tom hadn’t mastered the art of keeping them on his feet while walking. The cloth thong between his big toe and the second wasn’t much of a restraint, and he’d almost walked out of the damn things a dozen times.

“Grip with your toes,” Tuvok suggested. 

“You grip with your toes,” Tom grumped. “Most people don't have toes like a gorilla.”

Tuvok lifted up his robe and glanced at his feet. They were long and slim, with long, straight digits, like his hands. Unlike his hands, there was a copious ‘dusting’ of long, straight black hair on them. Unlike the rest of the members of the away mission, the hair hadn’t been coaxed to that length and thickness by the Doctor’s prowess in reconstructive surgery. Tom’s seven breasts and his own hairy toes, however, had been. As had his scales.

He averted his eyes from Tuvok’s bare chest. 

They were walking uphill toward the Hallowed Ossuary, a sacred burial vault that contained a rabbit warren of crypts full of the revered bones of the spiritual leaders of the planet, plus some sacred relics. And some that were not so sacred. 

They’d entered orbit two days ago, a week after being intercepted by a small trader’s vessel. They couldn’t believe their luck. As well as having access to a quantity of high-grade dilithium, the trader had been eager to take _Voyager’s_ scrap in exchange. Since they were still recovering from the mess the fight with Seska and the Kazon had made of the ship when they’d commandeered it, the captain had been more than willing to trade a few fried circuit boards and broken personal items for the much needed crystals. 

Until she’d discovered what he’d done with them. Rather than melting them down or recycling the items, he’d traded them on to the inhabitants of a small moon, one of seven circling the seventh planet in a septenary star system, Fictous VII.

The Fictonians were warp capable, so they hadn’t really broken the Prime Directive when their scrap had ended up on their planet, but the unscrupulous trader had pawned off a broken kitchen gadget as a religious relic, and the captain was bound by Federation principles to get it back. 

Fictous VII was a matriarchal society, with women as the head of government, the religious institution, and the family houses. Men were soldiers, labourers, and caregivers. With power firmly planted in the generous female bosom, the Fictonian who had traced the dubious artifact to _Voyager_ through an identification patch on a charred maintenance hatch, had been pleased to see Janeway in charge of the bridge. One never knew what they’d get with offworlders. 

Unfortunately, like any other society, Fictous VII was not a paradigm of peace and cooperation. There was currently a power struggle between the military wing of the government and the religious branch. Which meant that if they wanted to prize Neelix’ broken, seven-stranded whisk from the crypt sacristy, they’d have to do it undercover. Though they were walking in, they planned to beam out. They were lucky in that today happened to be when the aspirants to holy orders walked the long path to the temple in hopes of being chosen as that year’s group of novitates. The away team, dressed in the long, trailing robes and elaborate headdresses of the hopefuls, blended in. With a little help from the doc. 

The moon was locked into a synchronous orbit around its planet, and it always had one night side and one perpetual day. Something about the other six moons and something else. Tom didn’t quite understand what held it in position: magic, maybe? But then again astrophysics wasn’t his forte. The city straddled the line between the two extremes, with most of the inhabitants living in a perpetual twilight. The entryway to the crypt was shrouded in shadow, and to get there, they had to move from light to darkness. It was a little creepy, but symbolic. 

The Fictonians were humanoid and tall, which meant that sending in a party of _Voyager’s_ actual female crew was pretty much out of the question. They also mimicked the moon’s appearance in skin tone, with the population either boasting dark skin and hair, or pale. Hence the makeup of their landing party. Tom was following their—also undercover—local guide with Tuvok, Anderson, Lang, Swinn, and Larson. A party of seven, of course. Larson, at just shy two meters tall, was considered average height for a native. Tom, almost ten centimeters shorter, was downright puny. Luckily, the novices also consisted of young ‘teens’ so they didn’t attract any special notice in the crowd. 

Tom’s heel slipped off his right sandel and his breasts swayed with the jolt. Tuvok’s were high and firm, round and full, while Tom’s were a little… droopy. The doc had decided that variation was better than uniformity. Tom wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t taken a peek at Anderson or Swinn: he didn’t want to know which boobs were real and which weren’t. Though, there was an argument to be had for saying that they were all real. When he’d been a horny teenager, Tom had often dreamed of meeting and romancing a Draylaxian woman. They had three breasts, he had two hands and a mouth. A perfect match. He hadn’t, in fact, met one, but the male Draylaxian Commander he’d served with aboard the _Exeter_ had also had three of something--or so his altered uniform had suggested--so Tom figured his chances of impressing the female of the species were best left as youthful notions. 

They followed the line of the other supplicants into a courtyard and stopped. The groups of seven stood clustered near the opening of the catacombs, none appearing to be in any hurry to go first. “What do we do now?” Tom asked, keeping his voice low.

“We wait,” their guide answered. “And we consider what we would sacrifice to the Divine Being.”

Tom decided he could live with a few less boobs, but he assumed the guide meant something more spiritual. While Tuvok, Lang, and Larson betrayed their security training by assessing the crowd and the area, Tom averted his gaze and did his best to appear saintly. Eventually, it was their turn. They moved in single file through the ornately carved doors of the mausoleum, and Tom instantly felt colder. Only two of his nipples hardened in protest, though: the real ones. 

The main chamber was huge, with a tall ceiling held up by natural stone columns. The gloom was cut with tall candelabra placed strategically around the area, each holding seven candles. Only two passageways led off of the main chamber; Tom was vaguely disappointed at that. 

A group of seven, surprise surprise, robed figures sat on a rough stone dias at the end of the large room.

“You must choose between dark and light,” one of them said.

Fifty-fifty. Not terrible odds, but not great. That was the extent of the instructions they were going to be given, apparently. He looked at Tuvok, who was obviously weighing his choices. Their guide made the decision for them. She bowed low toward the dias, then took the passage to the right. 

One by one, the away team copied her movements. Tom’s foot slid off his sandal again and he twisted his ankle slightly. He hobbled after Swinn, who had been far more graceful in her obeisance. She was better on the shoes, too. 

The corridor turned to the left almost as soon as they entered, then narrowed until they were forced once again to walk in single file. The floor sloped, and Tom realized that it curved in a gentle spiral downward. They were heading underground: they’d chosen the dark. It was pretty gloomy in there, and the air held a tang of dust and age. Water dripped down the walls onto the cut stone floor. 

They passed several small recesses in the tunnel wall that held relics, both bones and objects. Tom shuddered. He wasn’t normally fanciful, but this was a little much. It hit all the highlights on his spook-o-meter. He wasn’t even tempted to turn this into a hologrogramme. 

“Here.” Tuvok’s voice carried clearly along the stone passageway. 

Tom had lagged behind with Larson, both of them interested in the objects that lined the tunnel. 

“I have the whisk,” Tuvok clarified.

Tom hurried to catch up to the rest of the party. Bent and twisted, it’s bright, shiny handle flattened and it’s seven wire prongs pulled from the central shaft, Tuvok did indeed hold Neelix’ former favourite whisk. Tom vividly remembered Neelix complaining about it after the crew had returned to _Voyager_ from where they’d been stranded on Hanon IV. 

“We must go, quickly,” their guide said. 

Tuvok hid the whisk under his robe and followed her down the corridor. 

“It exits where we began our walk. Hurry.”

Tom hurried. Then his heel slid off his shoe again and his shoulder hit the wall. “Damn it!” he swore. He steadied himself and hopped on one foot until he righted his sandal and slipped his foot back onto it, and his elbow knocked something off of one of the carved out niches. It hit the floor with a clatter. Tom bent and picked it up: a necklace of seven vertebrae set surrounding what appeared to be two replicas of a Ferengi’s ear… Well, that looked familiar. 

“Lieutenant Paris, you must not allow yourself to become distracted,” Tuvok’s admonishment echoed off the rock walls. 

Tom made the split-second decision to pocket the fetish necklace. He was now an official grave robber! 

They moved as quickly as they could through the winding passage until they started to climb upward. Tom could hear noises behind them--the next group of hopefuls?--and hurried along. He was tempted to kick off the damn shoes, but he didn’t want to risk walking through whatever dusted the stone pavers in his bare feet. Suddenly, the noises behind them rose in a fervor of anger and shouting. Someone must have noticed that a few of their baubles were missing! 

They ran, and burst out of the tunnel into inky darkness. Tom stumbled, of course, and swore again. He shivered, the filmy dress he was wearing doing little to warm the parts of him that _were_ covered. Larson smacked into his back and grabbed onto him, succeeding in palming two of his breasts. “Sorry sir,” he said as he instantly let go of Tom’s bosoms. 

“Tuvok to _Voyager_, six to beam up.”

Harry’s voice came over the comm. “_I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Solar activity is interfering with transporters. Give me a moment to filter it out._

“I would suggest you hurry, Mister Kim,” Tuvok replied. 

The sound from the tunnel was growing louder, seeming to amplify in the darkness. Tom groped for the members of his team, being careful to seek out shoulders and arms to touch. They could hear the sounds of booted and sandaled feet on the cobblestones, and a crowd seemed to appear from nowhere, all around them. Bodies smacked into Tom from three directions, and he was flung against Lang. He fell out of his fucking sandals again, and this time he left them off. His feet felt immediately frozen as they touched the icy cold stones of the roadway. 

He was knocked to the side, and swept along around the side of a building toward the light. The crowd was shouting something that the translator didn’t catch, garbled by dozens of voices, and Tom was shouting himself. “Hey, watch it! Tuvok!” 

A strong hand clamped around his chest, and a calloused palm cupped his lower left breast--number six, the one in the middle was seven--and Tom squeaked in indignation. He started to shove the arm away when Tuvok spoke in his ear, “Do not struggle, Mister Paris,” as he dragged him away from the crush of bodies.

Suddenly, Tom felt the familiar tingle of the transporter and the crowd melted away. He appeared in the transporter room, shoeless, dress and headdress disheveled, with Tuvok holding him in a tight embrace. B’Elanna stood at the transporter station, eyebrow raised and mouth twisted in a surprised pout. 

“Did you get it?” Janeway asked. 

Tuvok pushed Tom upright then stepped down off the transporter platform. “Yes, Captain.” He produced the mangled whisk. Apparently, that _was_ a whisk in his pocket that Tom had felt…

B’Elanna was still staring at him, a little smile on her face. Tom suddenly felt exposed, and he tugged on the gaping neckline of his robe in an attempt to cover his chest. It didn’t work. 

“Did you have a good time?” B’Elanna asked. She came around the transporter station as the rest of the away team filed out of the room. 

“Sure,” Tom said. He crossed his arms in front of his chest ineffectually. 

B’Elanna’s eyes were twinkling with suppressed laughter, and she slipped off her uniform jacket and held it out to him. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Tom covered his breasts, tucking the edges of the jacket under his arms. It was a little chilly on the ship.

“I like your scales,” she said as they stepped out into the hall. 

Tom smiled. The ship’s carpet felt warm under his feet. 

“That’s an impressive set of--”

“Yeah,” Tom cut her off.

“You know, the right bra works wonders.” She tried, and failed, to suppress a snort. 

“Uh huh,” Tom answered. He tucked her jacket a little tighter around his ribs. “Oh! I almost forgot. I got you a present.” 

She raised an eyebrow. 

He pulled the purloined necklace from under his robe. He wasn’t going to tell her where he’d been keeping it. 

Her eyebrow climbed toward her hairline again. “What is it?”

“Another fake relic that I liberated from the catacombs. It’s a Ferengi ear necklace, like the ones Chakotay and I bought on Takar a few months ago.”

“Thanks. I think.” She eyed it with suspicion. 

“Hey, would you like to have dinner with me tonight? I can tell you all about the mission.”

“I can’t. I’m on duty and I’m running a level five diagnostic on the sensor array. Besides, I think it’s going to take a while for the Doctor to…” She waved a hand at his chest. 

“You know,” he said with a little smile in his voice, “I’m starting to like them. I might decide to keep them for a while.” 

She snorted. “Wait until the next time you jog around the ship. You’ll change your mind.”

“Oh,” Tom nodded. He hadn’t thought of that. “Well. Enjoy your fetish.”

Her eyes went round. “My what?”

Tom gestured to her hand. “The necklace.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She smiled and left him waiting at the turbolift doors as she continued down the corridor, but stopped and turned back just before she took the branch to the right. She nodded at his chest. “You too, Tom.” With a quick grin, she was gone.


	7. “No, and that’s final.”/ praise kink - water sports - mirror sex - clothes on sex/isolation/the mummy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this didn’t end up where I thought it would! No matter. Pressing onward!

“No, and that’s final.”/ praise kink - water sports - mirror sex - clothes on sex/isolation/the mummy!

***

“No, and that’s final.”

“Oh come on, B’Elanna, you don’t want our daughter to have a bad disposition, do you?”

“I’m not giving birth to my baby beside the warp core. I’ll risk it.” B’Elanna winced as she leaned back on the arm of the sofa and stretched out on the seat. She hugged her belly and gave it a rub. “Hey, where’s my latinum? You’re behind on this week’s ‘rent’.”

Tom appeared at the end of the couch and dropped a kiss on the top of her head, then handed her a bowl of chicken stew with biscuits. He walked around the coffee table and lifted her feet, then sat and lowered them into his lap. “I pay my rent in foot massages and food.”

“Better than latinum any day.” She took a hearty bite of the stew and _mmmmm_ed. It transformed into an _ughahhhh_ when Tom started to massage the sole of her left foot.

“You're too good to me,” she sighed.

Tom grinned in response. “I got a message this afternoon: the Doc wants to see us tomorrow at fourteen hundred to discuss options for our birthing plan.”

“My option would be that you do it,” B’Elanna said around a mouthful of potatoes and peas. “I got one, too. He didn’t just tell you? I thought you were in sickbay this morning.”

“I was. I asked him the same thing and he said that he wanted a record of his request so we couldn’t duck out of it.” He shrugged.

“Fine,” B’Elanna answered. “Maybe I can arrange with Joe to fake a warp core breach.”

Tom smiled and moved on to her calves.

**

“In antiquity, Klingon females would go off alone and give birth in isolation in the wilderness: up a mountain, in a cave, in the boreal forest of—”

“I’m not having my baby all alone!”

“Damn right. We started this together, we see it through together.” Tom’s fingers wrapped around his wife’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“And we’re not stopping off at some random planet, either.”

“All right. I just thought I’d throw it out there; see what your opinion was.” The Doctor made a notation on his PADD. “So, if you don’t want an unassisted birth, you have three choices: here, in sickbay, a ‘home birth’ in your quarters, or the holodeck.”

Tom perked up at that. “What do you think? We could choose any setting: Risa, the resort on Lake Yuron on Vulcan, the resort programme?”

“I could give birth on the pool table in _Sandrine’s_,” she smirked. “Oh! That cabin in the woods we talked about?” She smiled this time, warm and genuine.

“Sure.” Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “The _Delta Flyer_!”

“We could just use the real _‘flyer_,” B’Elanna suggested.

“End where you began? I like that.”

“Absolutely not,” the Doctor objected. “It’s hardly sanitary!” 

“But we could fly to the nearest nebula and you could give birth inside it, like the Deltans.”

“Tempting, but I don’t think so.” B’Elanna shook her head. “I think I’ll stay right here.”

The Doctor swelled with pride, and smiled widely. “I was hoping you’d say that. If you choose sickbay, of course I’ll arrange to have an area sectioned off with privacy screens, so you feel more comfortable. You don’t have to thank me.”

“Oh! I hadn’t thought of that!” B’Elanna’s forehead pulled into a frown as she shifted her gaze out the window of the Doctor’s office.

“Thought of what?” Tom frowned.

“That anybody could just walk right in. What if Baxter sprained something again? Or Telfer thinks he has the Rigelian pox? I don’t want a line of people coming through here while I’m having my baby.”

“Well,” the Doctor paused, “I’m sure you understand that I can’t close sickbay.”

“There’s our quarters,” Tom suggested. “They’re private. We can lock the door.”

“And everything we need is right there.” She smiled softly at him, imagining the two of them welcoming their daughter into the home they shared together. “I like that idea.”

“In that case, I’ve drawn up a list of specifications I think you’ll find helpful. Items you’ll want to have on hand, ways you may wish to arrange your quarters. Plus notes on how to properly sanitize the area where you plan to deliver. I, of course, will be there to assist and guide you, and if there are any problems, we can transport to sickbay immediately. Again, no need to thank me.” He smiled beatifically at them both. “Pregnancy and childbirth are one of my specialties. I consider myself quite the expert in postnatal care, as well, of course.”

Tom and B’Elanna squeezed their linked hands again, warmth, love, and excitement shining in their eyes as they looked at each other. It didn’t even occur to them to offer the Doc the praise he was so obviously angling for. 

**

Warm water lapped at her chin, bubbles tickled her nose and gave her a soapy beard. Her head was cushioned on a bath pillow, and scented candles placed in strategic points around the bathroom gave off a soft glow. All the aches and pains of the day were easing as she reclined in the oversized tub. Forget the Borg, this was as close to perfection as she could imagine at the moment. 

Tom ambled into the room with a plush, oversized bathrobe in one hand, and a glass of ice water in the other. He laid the robe on the bench and handed her the drink. He’d changed out of his uniform into a tee shirt and flannel pajama pants. 

“Thanks,” she murmured, taking a sip. 

He took it from her hand and placed it beside the sink, then sat on the edge of the tub. “I’ve been looking over the notes the Doc prepared.” he began.

“Hmmm…?” 

Her eyes closed and she relaxed again as Tom cupped the underside of her knee and lifted her leg from the water. He cradled her heel in his hand, and reached for the sponge. 

“He mentioned a water birth, where you deliver in a tub. And considering how relaxed you look right now…” His eyebrow rose as he studied her almost liquid state. He dipped the sponge in the bubbly water and squeezed it out over her toes. 

Her eyes opened and she frowned. “It’s big in here, but I don’t think it’s that big.” She glanced around the bathroom, taking in the dimensions of the room and the bathtub itself. “We fit, but the doctor too? And whatever equipment he decides he needs? I don’t know.” 

“The Doc doesn’t necessarily have to take up any space. And if he wants to scan you, he can just use hand instruments.” 

“Maybe,” she acquessed. “But I don’t know. I was hoping you would be closer to me. That you could, you know, support me.” She lifted a bubbly shoulder. “Hold me if I want you to.”

“I can do that.” Tom gently scrubbed the arch of her foot. “I can sit behind you and you can lean on me.” He smiled.

“I guess so.” She sat up, and Tom released her foot. “But I wouldn’t be able to see anything.”

“See? You think you’d be able to—”

“We can set up a mirror if I’m on the bed. I’m not sure how we’d do that if I’m in the tub.”

Tom considered that for a moment. “We have time to have the wall mirrored. Maybe the ceiling, too.” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Maybe the sonic shower, too.” B’Elanna rolled her eyes. “Hey, gorgeous, don’t knock it. I’d love to see you from every angle the next time we have sex in the shower.”

“I don’t have any ‘angles’ anymore. I’m all ellipses.” She wrinkled her nose.

“The best kinda curves,” Tom agreed. “You know, we can have a special tub constructed, we don’t have to do it in here. You are an engineer.”

“Maybe.”

“Or there’s always the holodeck,” he shrugged. “Instead of a water birth, you could deliver Miral in the sulphur lagoons of Gorath.” He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Or maybe the mud pits Bolaris IX?”

“I think warm water is a better idea.” 

“Whatever you say, mummy.” Tom smiled again and leaned down to kiss her bubbly knee. 

“Mummy? I’m ‘mommy’ remember, daddy?”

“How could I forget?” He trailed a hand down her thigh, under the water, and onto her protruding belly. 

“You know,” she began, “before we make any plans, we should probably see if we do both fit in her now.” 

Her smile was wicked, and Tom matched it. “That sounds like the best idea so far.”

“Mmm. I thought you’d agree.” Tom was about to stand and strip out of his clothing when B’Elanna’s hands shot from the water and clamped around his upper arms. She hauled him into the tub with a splash! 

“Aaack!” Tom exclaimed. 

He was sideways in the tub, his head against the wall and his legs hanging over the side. Water and bubbles splashed onto the floor in a mini tidal wave. B’Elanna leaned toward him, her belly bumping his leg and slipped a hand under his wet tee shirt. 

“I guess you should maybe take this off now, huh?” 

“Yeah, maybe,” he laughed. He pulled it over his head and pitched it toward the sink. 

“Maybe these, too?” 

Her hand dipped to the waistband of his pants and her thumb brushed his cock. It twitched in interest. “That is definitely the best idea we’ve had all day,” he agreed. He leaned in for a kiss and his hands found her breasts, his thumbs brushed her nipples. She hissed, and he instantly eased up on the pressure, but she leaned into him.

“Good hurt, Tom. I like it.” 

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” 

Her eyes opened, and Tom registered the determined expression on her face. She straightened suddenly, then rose up on her knees and hooked Tom’s legs in her hands. She swung them into the tub with another splash. Tom spun on his wet-clothed-bottom, and gripped the sides of the tub to keep his head from going under. “B’Elanna!”

She settled over his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, and ground her centre against his rapidly hardening erection. “Oh, god, Tom. I… I…” 

He relaxed against the tub wall, his hands finding her breasts again, gently kneading. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, and her head fell back as he thrust his clothed groin against her softness. The friction of the wet cloth rubbing on his cock almost hurt, but the idea that her sweet warmth was right there, just out of reach, was an incredible turn-on. 

He leaned forward and flicked his tongue over her nipple, sucked it into his mouth, and her fingers tightened on his shoulders. She grunted, the came with a rush, shuddering and shaking on his lap. Her head fell forward to rest against his, her harsh breath puffed in his ear. He turned his head and kissed her. He loved this woman, and he was pretty sure he loved her pregnancy hormones, too. 

She straightened and smiled as she rose up on her knees. “How about you take off those pants now, daddy?” 

Tom dropped his hands to his waist and shoved.


	8. “Can you stay?”/masterbation-solo, bonds (telepathic or other)/stab wounds / A blood sucker.

Day 8:

“Can you stay?”/masterbation-solo, bonds (telepathic or other)/stab wounds / A blood sucker.

***

“‘An‘ou sss’tay?” 

Her arm shot upward, fingers flailing, sliding without purchase down his uniformed chest. He grasped her hand and squeezed. 

“I’ll be right back, I promise.”

She frowned at that, and squeezed her eyes shut on a grimace. Her breathing hitched, and she coughed in a fine spray of spittle. Tom’s jaw clenched in concern. In the dim light that filtered through the long gash on the port side of the _Sacajawea_, he could see that she’d cut her head when she’d been thrown to the deck on impact. Her arm looked broken, the wrist bent at an unnatural angle, and the head wound was bleeding freely, matting her dark hair to her forehead and trailing blood down her cheek. He hoped to hell she didn’t have swelling of the brain.

“I’m just going to see if I can find the medkit and get some lights on. I’ll be right back,” he repeated.

He winced as he climbed to his feet, mentally tallying his own aches and pains: his right elbow and shoulder had made contact with the deck when he’d been pitched out of his seat, and he’d somehow managed to turn his ankle. Aside from that, he was fine; it was her that concerned him. 

He grabbed the high back of the pilot’s seat and pulled himself into the chair, then surveyed the display panel. It was dark, obviously not getting power. He stifled a curse. He slid onto the floor and pried open the access hatch but without a light and an engineer’s toolkit, he couldn’t immediately identify the problem. Abandoning his plan to get emergency lights up, Tom turned and grabbed the medkit from its compartment beside the engineer’s station. He clipped a phaser to a loop at his hip, and took all of the palm lights as well. 

He shuffled backwards between the seats then paused, wondering if he should grab the emergency rations, too. No. Better to assess how badly she was hurt before he offered her food or water. And he had no idea how long they would be stuck here before _Voyager_ found them; didn’t even know if their distress call had sent. 

He paused and thought, cataloging the contents of the shuttle. This was a short-range shuttle, not even intended for overnight missions. No cots, no head, not even an emergency blanket. Fuck. 

They’d left to survey a nebula two light years from where _Voyager_ was in orbit around an M Class planet. While Janeway, Neelix, and Chakotay were overseeing gathering food supplies, he and B’Elanna had taken out the shuttle to swing around the nebula, run a few preliminary scans, and run down the traces of galicite they’d detected. They’d be gone for six hours, eight max, then _Voyager_ would rendezvous with them on the other side of the nebula. Easy peasy. 

He hadn’t anticipated the ion storm that had slammed into them, or that it would knock out navigation. They’d basically fallen out of space onto a Class O planet orbiting a neighbouring star system three light years from their destination. It was pure luck that they’d set down—crashed down—on land, and hadn’t drowned in one of the planet’s vast oceans. 

He placed the medkit on the floor and stripped off his jacket, then tucked it around her shoulders. She opened her eyes briefly, but closed them again. She was cradling her wrist to her chest now, up under her chin, arm tucked tightly to her ribs, and her generous mouth was pinched with pain. He looked up, and grabbed a length of trailing conduit, then looped a wrist lamp to it. It swung with momentum when he let it go, and light and shadows flashed against the walls of the shuttle. He strapped a second light over his knuckles and shone it around. There was a jagged tear the whole length of the port side of the shuttle, and the ramp at the back was torn from its hinges and twisted, one corner bent, the whole thing bowed inward. Compartment hatches had come loose, some flung completely off of their housing, and the shuttle was littered with debris. He could see daylight and plant life outside the gash in the bulkhead.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Tom murmured. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to get us down.”

“I’m not your ‘sweetheart’, Paris.” B’Elanna’s voice was low, but it still carried the tone of impatience that he was used to hearing whenever she spoke to him. He didn’t know what Harry saw in her. 

“Actually, I was talking to the shuttle,” he said. He had been, in fact. And though the _Cochran_ was his favourite, for no particular reason other than the fact that she simply was his favourite, he regretted taking a shuttle out of commission. Though, if he could fix Torres, she could fix the _Sacajawea_ once they got back to the ship. 

He opened the medkit and took out the medical tricorder. As well as being made chief conn officer, he’d been assigned as ship’s medic by the captain almost as soon as they’d entered the Delta Quadrant. It was an order that had taken him completely by surprise not only because he was woefully unqualified, but because he was out of his depth. Even after two months of the Doctor’s tutorials, he didn’t feel comfortable treating patients. Or maybe that was the adrenaline from the crash still pumping through his system, or the obvious fact that Torres was in pain. 

He removed the wand and flipped open the tricorder, then scanned her head. “Just lie still for a minute,” he said. 

“Not a problem,” she breathed. 

No brain swelling, thank god. And the cut on her forehead was superficial: no cranial fractures. It must be true about Klingons having hard heads, he mused. Or would a hard head crack under pressure? Maybe hers was soft? He snorted. Yeah, she’d love it if he said she was soft in the head. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” Tom tried a smile, but her eyes were closed. “I’m going to examine that wrist now, okay? It might hurt a little.”

She grunted and let her other hand fall onto her belly. He pushed his jacket aside then scanned her wrist and frowned. He frowned harder as he moved the tricorder up her arm. Fractures to her ulna and radius, her carpal bones were a mess. She must have tried to break her fall with her hand. He continued with his evaluation: blood pressure okay-ish, respiration rapid and shallow, which could be a result of pain, heart rate a little high, maybe. He wasn’t sure; the medical tricorder didn’t have a setting for half-Klingon, half-human. 

“Will I live?” 

“Oh sure. You’ll be storming around engineering chewing out your staff in no time.”

She snorted, then coughed again, and Tom saw blood bubble at her lips. 

“Did you cut your tongue?” he asked. He brought the tricorder wand to her face and she batted it away, then groaned in pain. “Where does it hurt?” 

“My chest.”

Tom pulled his jacket off of her and shone his wrist lamp over her torso, giving her a quick visual survey. He moved the tricorder over her ribs and cursed. “I’m going to have to move that arm, sorry.” 

He cupped her elbow and forearm, and pulled her arm away from her ribs as gently as he could. She hissed sharply, then her body convulsed in short staccato coughs. Tom felt it in his gut and he flinched a little knowing that he’d caused her pain. Light glinted off a jagged chunk of metal that protruded from her chest. 

“Fuck,” he swore. He fought the impulse to pull it out. What should he do? What the fuck was he supposed to do? He shone the light on the area, and thought he saw blood glittering on the black fabric of her uniform, but he couldn’t be sure. Of course that was blood. She’d been stabbed! 

“What is it?”

He glanced up and flashed a smile. She was watching him, her dark eyes hodded and glassy with pain. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he said with a lot more confidence than he was feeling at the moment. He was a medic, and barely that, not a thoracic surgeon! 

She shifted and tried to sit up, and Tom immediately put a hand to her shoulder and gently shoved her back down onto the deck. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“I need to sit up. It’s hard to breathe.” 

“Well, that’s because you have a piece of the shuttle sticking out of your ribs.” 

“What?! Get it out!”

Her eyes widened in alarm, and Tom realized that was a stupid thing for him to say. 

“I can’t pull it out right now. If I do, your lung might collapse.” 

“Oh.” She seemed to consider that for a moment, then, “It’s okay. I have two more.” 

“You do?” Tom frowned in confusion. Was she joking, or was she serious? He waved the tricorder’s wand over her torso again.

“Yeah. I thought you were the nurse. Don’t you know anything about Klingon anatomy?”

“I’m still on the Bs: Bajoran, Betazoid, Bolian… If you want to know about the Bolian lymphatic system, I’m your man.”

“Then you should know: _brak’lul_. It’s the Klingon term for our redundant organs.”

“I’ll mention it to the Doctor,” Tom said. “Have him update my lesson plan.” He dialed the hypospray to select a medication, and pressed it to her neck. “I’ve given you some triox. I can’t give you an analgesic, I’m sorry. I don’t know what it will do to your blood pressure.” 

“That’s okay.” She just breathed for a few moments, and Tom watched her face tense, then relax. “Klingons can put up with more pain than humans.”

“What about half-Klingons?” he asked. Her mouth moved, but he wasn’t sure if it was a smile or a grimace. “I’m going to try to fix your wrist. It might—”

“Hurt. It’s okay.”

Tom nodded and selected the bone knitter from the medkit. He cupped her arm as gently as he could, then ran the knitter over her wrist. He moved slowly, counting in his head like he’d been taught. One-two-three, one-two-three. Like a waltz. Up, across, down, gradually moving upward from her knuckles to halfway up her forearm. After a few minutes he put it down and scanned her arm again. 

“That’s about all I can do right now.” He glanced at her face and released a little sigh, hoping it would help his own anxiety. “Is that any better?” 

“Yes. A little. Thanks.”

“When we get back to the ship, the Doctor can use the osteoregenerator on you. It’s more powerful. But this should hold as long as you don’t put any weight on it.”

The cut on her forehead had clotted, but he decided to mend that as well. He studied her as he did so. She had closed her eyes again, and was consciously relaxing. She looked soft and vulnerable, and completely unlike the B’Elanna Torres he had come to know. Of course, it was possible that he didn’t really know her at all. 

She and Harry were close, as close as he was to Harry, he grudgingly admitted. Their time in the Ocampan tunnels had formed a bond between them that Harry had been reluctant to relinquish once they’d made it back to the ship. He’d blown off Tom’s company more than once because he’d had plans with Torres. B’Elanna. Tom had once wondered if there was something more than friendship between them, but he was sure now that there wasn’t. Not that any red, or green, or purple, blooded male wouldn’t be interested. He’d been interested himself, after the crews had first merged, until he’d gotten to know her. Waspish was one way to describe her. Disdainful was another. And arrogant. 

But… It was possible that she wasn’t the smug, cranky bitch that he’d assumed she was. She certainly wasn’t acting like that right now. She was being far nicer and more compliant than he’d ever imagined she could be, and Tom was starting to see a glimmer of the woman that Harry obviously saw buried deep down under her tough shell. 

Tom glanced around the shuttle again, then stood and carefully picked his way to the hole in the bulkhead. He peered outside. They appeared to have crashed in a mountainous region, in a valley between two steep hills. There were trees and scrub grass and shrubs, and a rich peaty scent that was almost unpleasant alerted him that the area where the shuttle rested was boggy. He didn’t step outside, but he thought that they must be set down on stone. At least he hoped so. The sun was setting, and he felt a distinct difference in temperature between the inside of the shuttle and outside. Soon, they’d be the same. 

His neck itched and he reached up to rub it, his fingers encountering something soft and small that rolled against his skin as he rubbed. He flinched, and pinched the object between his thumb and index finger, bringing it into the light. Some winged insect that had just bitten him. Great. He squished it, and wiped it against the bulkhead. He probed his neck and came away with a smear of blood on his fingers that he wiped on his uniform pants. Fantastic. The Delta Quadrant’s version of mosquitoes. He hoped he hadn’t just been poisoned, or contracted some deadly virus.

He turned back toward B’Elanna and bent to clear away the debris that had littered the deck of the small shuttle. She opened her eyes and watched him. When he was done, he sat beside her and reached to pluck a leaf out of her hair. “How are you holding up?” he asked.

“I’m okay. I hope Carey has figured out the phase variance in the constrictor coils.” 

Tom’s eyebrows rose, and he laughed. “Let’s see: we’re stranded on some backwards planetoid, with a hole in our shuttle big enough to let in the local fanged and clawed beasts, no way to communicate with the ship, you’re injured, and you’re worried about the constrictor coils?”

“If the warp engines burn out, it’s going to take a very long time for _Voyager_ to find us,” she retorted. 

“It still might,” Tom said.

“What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll miss a big date tonight?” 

He glanced at her expression, expecting derision, but he saw humour in her eyes instead.

“Naw. I had my evening saved for you, just in case you decided to show up at my door and ask me out.”

She snorted, then laughed. It turned into a prolonged coughing fit, and Tom hovered over her, hands at her shoulders to prevent her from curling into a ball.

“M’okay,” she slurred, eventually. 

She wasn’t. Her colour was terrible, and he could see that she was in pain. She shuddered. “It’s cold.” 

Was she going into shock? He tucked his jacket around her again, smoothing it out along her body and over her hips. He felt like shivering himself; the temperature had dropped noticeably in the last few minutes. As soon as they got back to _Voyager_ he’d talk to Culhane about emergency blankets being standard issue in all shuttles.

“I’m going to lie down beside you, okay? I’m not getting fresh, I just want to conserve body heat.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well, if you try anything, I’ll tell Megan Delaney on you.”

Tom smiled and stretched out beside her, and carefully leaned his body against hers. The floor of the shuttle was hard and cold, and he felt a chill along his ribs and hips. And she’d been lying there for the last hour. “Harry and I had exactly one date with the Delaney sisters and that didn’t end very well,” he said. “The only person I’ve been _dating_ lately is my right hand.”

What the hell had possessed him to say that?! She stiffened, and he prepared for a blast of her infamous temper. He hadn’t actually come out and admitted that masterbation was as close to a good-time Saturday night as he’d come since they’d landed in the Delta Quadrant, but she was smart enough to figure out what he meant. And she would be within bounds to have him written up for sexual impropriety.

But instead of ripping into him, she laughed. “Join the club.”

And just like that Tom flashed on an image of her, naked and glowing on soft sheets, pleasuring herself. He wasn’t cold anymore. 

“Voyager _to the_ Sacajawea, _come in. What is your status?_”

Tom hit his chest with his fingers, then realized that his combadge was on his jacket, wrapped around B’Elanna. He sat and searched under her uninjured arm, then plucked it from the coat. 

_ _“Paris, here,” he said. “Boy, am I glad to hear from you.”_ _

_ _He glanced at B’Elanna, and their eyes met, and she smiled._ _

_ _***_ _

_ _Three hours later he strode into sickbay. He’d been debriefed, had written and filed his report on the shuttle crash. He’d checked in with the shuttle repair crew, and remembered to mention the blanket thing to both Chakotay and Culhane. He’d showered and changed, and spoken to Harry, who had urged him to stop by sickbay and check up on B’Elanna. Better to go to the source than to try to pry information out of him that he didn’t have, Harry had said. _ _

_ _She was lying on a biobed on the far side of the room. The arch was down, and she appeared to be sleeping. Tom hesitated. Kes looked up from a computer terminal and smiled at him. _ _

_ _“Go say hello if you want to.”_ _

_ _“I don’t want to wake her up.”_ _

_ _“I was just speaking with her. She’s not asleep.” She nodded in encouragement. “I think she would like the company.” _ _

_ _Tom nodded and walked over to her, taking his time. He was unaccountably nervous. Her eyes opened, and she watched him as he closed the distance between the door and her bed. She propped up, an abandoned PADD on a tray beside the bed. _ _

_ _“Hey,” he said. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” _ _

_ _“Okay. Good, thanks to you.” She studied him for a moment. “I think you saved my life.” _ _

_ _Tom’s forehead pinched in denial. “Naw. All I did was a little first aid.”_ _

_ _She sat and lifted the oversized PADD, then picked up an object that had been lying underneath it and extended it toward him. He took it by reflex. It was the jagged chunk of the shuttle that had been lodged between her ribs._ _

_ _“I would have pulled it out. Which, according to the Doctor, would have been a very bad idea. My lung would have collapsed, it probably would have sliced my liver causing me to bleed internally and go into shock.” _ _

_ _“That sounds like a lecture from the Doctor, all right,” Tom nodded. _ _

_ _“So, you saved me.”_ _

_ _“By doing nothing.”_ _

_ _“I wouldn’t say nothing.” She smiled, finally. _ _

_ _Suddenly, Tom felt awkward. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay. I just wanted to check.” He smiled and turned. _ _

_ _“Hot date?” she asked. _ _

_ _Tom turned back toward her with a frown. _ _

_ _She shrugged. “You’re running off, so I just assumed…?”_ _

_ _“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t have any plans tonight.”_ _

_ _“Can you stay for a while?”_ _

_ _Her voice was soft, and there was a vulnerable expression in her eyes. Tom smiled. “Sure.” He grabbed a stool from near the diagnostic station and plunked it beside her bed. “What do you want to talk about?” _ _

_ _She shrugged and smiled. “Tell me about the Bolian lymphatic system.” _ _

_ _Tom grinned and took a deep, full breath. _ _

_ _***_ _


	9. “There is a certain taste to it.”/ electrostimulation - fisting - nipple play - body swap/ shackled /tentacles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Canadian Thanksgiving. A little early, but we work with what we’re given. Thanks again to my coffee crew for the mental push.

Day 9:

“There is a certain taste to it.”/ electrostimulation - fisting - nipple play - body swap/ shackled /tentacles 

***

“There is a…” Neelix’ eyes squinted almost shut, his mouth puckered, lips and tongue smacking. “...certain _taste_ to it,” he declared. “A certain _pungency_ to the flavour.” 

He dipped his oversized spoon into the broth and offered a sample to Harry who bent obediently and slurped. 

“Not bad,” Harry agreed. 

“Just wait until I add the dried talsa leaves,” Neelix chortled. “Oh, this will be the best meal, ever!” 

“But surely there won’t be enough for the entire crew?” Tom asked. He eyed the pot of broth skeptically, and tried to stay downwind. 

“Well, no,” Neelix agreed. “But I thought I’d do something a little extra special for the command crew. To show how much we appreciate you.” He beamed at Tom.

Tom smiled, hoping he showed his own appreciation rather than his revulsion. 

“I have something almost as delicious for the rest of the crew,” Neelix assured him. 

“I just don’t want you to go to any trouble for us, Neelix.” Tom tried a last-ditch attempt to halt Neelix in his boots. 

“It’s never any trouble, Tom.” Neelix beamed. He gave Tom’s arm a pat, then turned toward a bowl of roughly chopped _bits_ that Tom couldn’t immediately identify. “I have my stuffing right here, and I just mix in the broth to moisten it, then fill the cavity of the flarka beast and roast it for twelve hours and bingo, the most delicious dinner you’ve ever eaten!” 

“Flarka beast?” Tom asked. He was afraid to know.

“A small waterfowl, native to Chessu. I was hoping to get enough for the entire crew when we bartered for supplies, but they only gave me one. The sure did drive a hard bargain!”

“Chessu? One of the planets in the ‘rally? You’ve had it in stasis all this time?” Harry asked, referring to the ill-fated, for him, trans-stellar rally where once again he’d lost the girl. Tom’s luck had been somewhat better. 

“Oh nooooo,” Neelix corrected him. “Not stasis. It’s been hanging in cargo bay three. It needed to age.”

“Age?” Tom’s lip curled. “Neelix, that was over six months ago.” 

“Hmmm, yes.” He nodded, and tossed a handful of dried leaves into his broth and stirred. “I hope it’s been long enough. I was given quite explicit instructions.” 

“So, what’s with all the fuss…?” Harry’s eyebrow rose.

“Now that we’re in communication with the Alpha Quadrant, I’ve been reading about Earth customs.” Neelix positively beamed. “Do you realize that all the major holidays involve food? Specific dishes for specific holidays, with a little variation. Individual families had their own customs, of course. And we’re a family, so I thought I’d start some customs of our own.”

“Well, that sounds nice, Neelix,” Harry replied. “So, which one are we celebrating with a special meal?”

“The Earth custom of Thanksgiving! Because I’m so thankful that our paths crossed and that you’ve taken me into your family on _Voyager_.”

Harry smiled, but Tom frowned in confusion. “But it’s not November, Neelix.”

“Hmmm?” Neelix was stirring his pot again, and took another sip of the broth. “It’s missing something… I know!” He bustled to the cooling compartment and pulled out a large tub and hefted it onto his work counter. A tentacle flopped over the side of the bin and _plopped_ onto the metallic surface. 

Tom and Harry exchanged an uneasy glance.

“Maldorian yukixet. If you _very_ carefully scrape the sebaceous gland on the underside of the suckers, it releases a liquid that adds that little soupçon of flavour.” 

Even Harry’s nose wrinkled at that. 

Neelix picked up a paring knife and carefully scraped. But he wasn’t careful enough. Suddenly, his jaw locked, his fingers clenched on the tentacle and knife, and his body shuddered. “Ooohhooo!” His voice rose in pitch.

“Neelix, are you okay?” Tom started to head around the serving counter.

“Oh, fine. Just fine. I forgot that there’s still a little left over electrical current in them even after they’re dead.” He smiled his reassurance. “Actually,” he patted his chest, rubbing circles over his upper rib cage, “that was rather stimulating!”

“Maybe you should wear gloves?” Harry suggested. 

“I think I have enough anyway.” Neelix tapped the knife against the cooking pot and stirred. A pungent, acerbic aroma drifted up in the escaping steam. “Perfect!” Neelix declared. He offered Tom a taste but he waved the spoon away. 

“Neelix, do you have your… bird here?”

“Oh, yes. Right over here, in the cupboard.” He motioned for Tom to follow him as he headed to the storage area in the back of the galley. He opened a cupboard door and stood back, and waved a hand with a flourish. “Isn’t she a beauty?” 

Tom’s eyes watered. He fought the urge to gag. A thick, visceral scent wafted out of the cabinet and Tom took an involuntary step backward. He couldn’t understand why there wasn’t an obvious greenish cloud of stench hanging over the area. It resembled a small Earth turkey, about five kilos in size. Tom counted four legs. 

“At least no one will fight over a drumstick,” Harry shrugged.

“No chance of that,” Tom murmured. His lip curled in revulsion. 

Neelix beamed. 

***

“Does B’Elanna know what we’re doing?”

“No, why?”

“Oh, just that I know she has tonight off. I figured she’d want to spend it with you.”

“We don’t spend every second together, Harry. I just told her I had something to take care of with you. Why do you think that would be a problem?”

“Oh, you know. You’re an old, married man now. Shackled to the old _ball and chain_…” 

Tom grinned. “Don’t knock it. Some people like to be _tied down_.” 

They rounded the corner and stepped through the doors of the mess hall before Harry could formulate a reply. It was dim, but they didn’t call for lights. Tom went immediately into the galley and placed a tote bag on the counter. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Harry said.

“Well, it’s too late now.”

“But if Neelix finds out, his feelings will be hurt.”

Tom had opened the cooler and was assessing its contents. He said, “Ah” and pulled a large, covered baking dish from the shelf and placed it on the counter beside his bag. “Hand me a bowl.”

Harry turned and surveyed the open shelves under the countertop. He grabbed a metal bowl and handed it to Tom. 

“Do you really think he won’t notice?”

“Spoon,” Tom commanded. 

Harry slapped it into Tom’s palm, feeling a little like a surgeon’s assistant. 

“I’m hoping he won’t notice. I’m not feeding my pregnant wife rancid meat. Her morning sickness just went away, and I don’t think even her redundant stomachs can handle...this.” He gestured to the foul fowl with his spoon, then dug out more of the stuffing and plopped it into the bowl. 

Harry unzipped the duffel and stared at its contents. “And you really think you can just swap out the flarka for a four-legged, replicated turkey?”

“Yup.” 

“I dunno, I’m not sure this is a good idea.” 

“You’re never sure Harry.” It was one of the reasons why Tom was convinced that Harry would stay an ensign forever. He dug the last of the stuffing out of the rotting carcass and turned to pluck the turkey from the bag. He handed it to Harry, who recoiled. Tom’s eyebrow rose. “Unlike that rotting hunk of flesh on the counter, Harry, this,” he motioned to the replicated turkey with his chin, “isn’t a real, raw dead animal.”

Harry took the bird. His lip curled in distaste. Tom snatched the flarka beast from the roasting pan and shoved it into the duffel, and zipped it quickly. He walked over to the replicator and shoved it in, bag and all, and pressed the button to recycle it. He breathed a sigh of relief when it vanished. 

Back in the galley, Harry had placed the turkey in the roasting pan. Tom zipped back and grabbed a spoonful of stuffing and attempted to put it inside the turkey. He picked it up by one of its legs and pulled it upwards, and poked the loaded spoon inside. The turkey slipped backward in the pan. “Hold this for me, Harry.” Harry’s nose scrunched up this time. 

Tom tried another angle and bent over the bird, his elbow up under Harry’s nose, but he couldn’t shake the stuffing from the bowl of the spoon. Giving up, he dropped the spoon onto the counter and grabbed a fistful of stuffing and shoved it between the replicated turkey’s aft legs into equally replicated abdominal cavity. In under a minute the bird was stuffed and back in the cooler, the counter wiped, and the bowl and spoon washed and back where they belonged. They had just exited the galley and were rounding the counter when Neelix stepped through the doors. 

“Tom! Harry! What are you doing in here?” Neelix smiled at them. 

“Ummm….” Harry said.

“B’Elanna. B’Elanna wanted a snack.” Tom said. 

“But she had two helping of Yigrish cream pie at dinner.” Neelix looked perplexed. 

“Eating for two,” Tom replied. 

Neelix smiled and nodded.

***

B’Elanna was in bed reading when Tom walked into their quarters carrying a tray. She frowned in question. “Hungry?”

“For you. Compliments of Neelix,” he said. 

“After everything I ate at dinner? Ugh.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “I hate pokkel slugs.”

“He thinks you love them. And he said they’re good for the baby.”

“Please, my nausea just stopped. Can you…?” she motioned toward the replicator.

Her nose wrinkled far more adorably than Harry’s, Tom noted. “Sure.” He crossed the living area and dumped the tray onto the shelf. It disappeared in a twinkle of light, and two replicator rations were added to their account. He shrugged off his jacket as he walked back to the bed, and leaned over to kiss his wife’s cheek. 

She put a hand to his chest and recoiled. “What is that smell?”

“Ahhh…” Funky fowl? Fetid flarka? “Umm,” Tom began. “Harry…”

“Harry? Ugh. I don’t know what you two get up to in the holodeck but the stink isn’t supposed to follow you out of the grid.”

“I’ll shower.”

“Please.” 

Tom pulled his turtleneck and undershirt off together and shoved them into the refresher. “Want to join me?”

“Maybe.” She seemed to be weighing her options.

“I might just want a little snack myself.” He waggled his eyebrows. 

She considered his offer. “I think I’ll give you a two minute head start.”

Tom stepped into the shower and sighed as the sonic waves lifted the sweat and grime off of his skin. B’Elanna’s fingers touched his arm, and she stepped into the stall and lifted her face toward the ceiling. He bent and kissed her throat. She made that little growling sound that he loved.

He cupped her shoulder, slid his palm down her arm and squeezed her breast, then rubbed her nipple with his thumb. Her breath hitched.

“Neelix is planning a special dinner tomorrow night.” He bent and swirled his tongue around the hardened peak, then closed his mouth around it.

“Is he?” Her reply was breathy.

“Mmmm,” Tom replied. He pulled away and kissed a path up under her ear. “Wanna work up an appetite?” He nibbled her earlobe while his hand worked its way south.

She laughed, then gasped, then groaned.


	10. “Listen, I can't explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”/ daddy mommy kink - nylons tights - bondage - erotic dancing/ unconscious/ Werewolf

Day 10:

“Listen, I can't explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”/ daddy mommy kink - nylons tights - bondage - erotic dancing/ unconscious/ Werewolf

With apologies to CaptAcorn. 

***

“Listen. I can’t explain it, you’ll just have to trust me.”

“Trust you?!” Harry Kim struggled against his bonds, growing more panicked and confused with each passing moment. He flexed his arms and tugged on the restraints as his body heaved and bowed. The blanket started to slide toward the floor, and his bare thigh was uncovered, then his ribs, his pale skin gleaming in the blue lights above his bed. He ceased all movement before he was totally exposed. 

“Why am I naked?” he yelled. “And why am I tied up?” He wracked his brain, trying to remember what had happened last night. He’d gone to _Sandrine’s,_ had a few drinks, played some pool… But he hadn’t gotten sloppy drunk, had he? And while he knew that some members of the crew found Tom attractive, they didn’t know him like he did. He couldn’t imagine a situation where he’d end up naked, tied to his bed, with Tom Paris looming over him!

“Because you…” Tom paused, then walked over to his platonic pal and twitched the blanket back over him. “Because something happened to you. Do you remember our last away mission?”

“Away mission? What the hell is going on, Tom?”

“Think, Harry. Ildaria? That moon with the subtropical ecosystem?”

Harry frowned. He remembered taking a shuttle down with Tom and B’Elanna. He remembered scanning the area for gallicite. It reminded him of the Great Southern Rain Forest on Earth with huge, old growth trees that formed a lush canopy overhead, vines that twisted around the trunks and looped from tree to tree. There were winged creatures, and small mammals and— “That dog-thing bit me.” 

It had been crying, howling and yipping, and had sounded like it was in pain. Harry had pushed aside the leaves of a plant and seen it huddled and afraid, lying in the dirt beneath the shrub. It had looked like a young puppy to him, separated from its mother and obviously terrified. Tom had warned him, but he’d reached for it anyway. It had flown at him, a small ball of fangs and fur and fury, and bitten his hand.

“Yeah,” Tom said. 

“Am I… Am I sick? Do I have some sort of disease?!” He felt his heart rate rise, heard the blood rushing in his ears. 

“Not so much a disease as a condition,” Tom hedged. 

“A condition?! Where’s the Doctor? Why aren’t I in sickbay?” Harry tugged again on the fabric that bound his wrists, but with a little more restraint this time. He frowned. “Are these my thermal tights?” 

“Yeah. Because last time, you tore up sickbay. If you could just stay calm while B’Elanna comes with the handcuffs… She’ll be here any minute.” 

“Handcuffs?” A fine prickle of sweat broke out on Harry’s chest, and he gasped a breath. He heard a sound from beyond the end of the bed and craned his neck to look. Ayala and Andrews hove into view. 

“She’s working on a new design. You broke out of the old ones.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” His skin was itching, and his jaw hurt. Pain radiated along his limbs. Was he having a heart attack?! 

“Seriously, Harry. Calm the fu—”

“Here, try these!” 

B’Elanna ran into Harry’s quarters and tossed something to Tom. He caught it, and climbed onto Harry’s chest and grabbed his right arm. Harry felt someone push on his left leg then clamp a tight band around his ankle. 

B’Elanna’s face appeared above his own, unsmiling, apologetic. “Sorry, Harry,” she said as she clipped a restraint onto his left wrist. In seconds, he was shackled tightly to the bed. He bounced, seized his muscles and strained. “You’re only going to hurt yourself,” Tom warned. His voice was muffled, deadened by a haze of anger and panic that swelled over Harry’s consciousness and blotted out reason. He needed to get up! And he was hungry, suddenly ravenous. He needed to run! He needed to fight! 

“Paris!” B’Elanna’s voice, unease giving it an edge. “Now would be a good time.”

Cold metal against his neck. A hiss. Then darkness.

***

They were gathered in the briefing room: Tom, Chakotay, Janeway, Tuvok, Kes, and the Doctor on the monitor. “_I’ve been running comparison scans of Mister Kim’s cells from before the incident, and comparing them to the ones I took after his first metamorphosis. I believe the culprit is a virus._” His face on the display was replaced by a picture of a blood cell that was out of whack. “_The virus entered his bloodstream through the saliva of the mammalian creature that bit him. It attached itself to his cells and has reproduced at a fantastic rate. Really, I’m impressed by how quickly it took over his system. Reminds me a little of the Borg’s nanoprobes._”

“A virus?” Janeway repeated. “You mean like the common cold?”

“_Basically, yes,_ the Doctor confirmed. His face reappeared on the monitor. “_Though this one is slightly more sophisticated. For example, it appears to lie dormant in his system until it’s triggered, then it takes over, mutating his outward appearance and behavioural responses. I believe the transformation is triggered by adrenaline, which is reflexively released into his system by his anxiety. It stimulates a ‘fight or flight’ response in his brain, more adrenaline is produced by the pain of his transformation, etcetera. It’s a continuous loop. Or, ‘loup-garou’, as it were.” _ He chuckled to himself.

Tom frowned at the pun but didn’t object. He’d begun to think of him as ‘Hairy’, himself. “So why can’t he remember when he has an episode?” he asked.

“_Trauma-induced acute amnesia? I’m not sure. But that could be more a psychological response than a physical one._”

Janeway sighed. “So what do we do?”

“_Well, for the moment, I’d suggest you keep him calm and secure. Try not to excite him. And if you do decide to tell him what’s happened, reassure him that it’s a temporary condition that will pass. And I think we should keep him restrained for the time being._

“Keep him on a tight leash?” Chakotay asked. The corner of his mouth twitched. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to let him near the common areas of the ship, no,” the Doctor replied. 

“Yeah. We should probably keep him out of the mess hall, at least,” Tom said.

“Are you concerned he’ll get into the ship’s stores?”

As far as Tom was concerned, Harry could eat all the leola root he wanted. “No, actually I have luposlipaphobia, and—”

“Lupo what? That’s not in my database.”

Tom stifled a snicker, but Janeway growled. “Gentlemen, as amusing as all this is to you, it’s no walk in the park for Harry.” Tom turned his head and stared at her. Had she just…? 

“What else do you suggest, Doctor?” Janeway asked, her face composed, expression a mask of polite Starfleet interest.

They’d discussed moving Harry to the brig but had decided that restricting him to the familiar surroundings of his quarters would be more calming. The three incidents that he’d had since the move from sickbay hadn’t particularly demonstrated that it was the best solution, but there weren’t many other options. 

“He hasn’t really responded to reassurances so far, Doc,” Tom noted. 

“_I’ve developed a new tranquilizer that I hope with be effective. Kes will administer the first dose to him, but I expect you to keep to a schedule, Mister Paris. And to record your observations of any changes in his behaviour._”

“So that’s it? We keep him restrained and tranquilized for the next seventy-five years?” Janeway demanded.

“It doesn’t sound like the best solution,” Chakotay agreed. 

“I could smack him across the nose with a rolled up newspaper,” Tom offered. 

“_It’s temporary,_” the Doctor assured them. “_I’ve already observed a drop in his viral load between his first incident and the one this morning. If the virus continues to die off at this rate, his cells should be back to normal within two weeks._

“I guess we don’t really have any other choice. Dismissed.” 

“If you have a moment, Captain, I may also have a solution. I would like to discuss it with you.”

Janeway nodded. “Alright. Tom, Kes, go check on Harry.”

Tom rose from his chair, and followed Kes out the door.

***

He was providing the music, playing the bandoneon, with Tom accompanying him on the guitar, and B’Elanna on shakers. 

His parents were dancing the tango, their bodies moving sinuously together, his mother’s skirts swirling up around her naked thighs. His father’s hand caressed her hip, then slid along her belly and up over her ribs to rest just below her breasts. The back of his mother’s head rested on his father’s shoulder, then he spun her sharply so they were chest-to-chest, foreheads touching, eyes closed, her leg raised and hooked on his father’s hip. Her groin pressed tightly to his thigh, and he caressed her naked buttock. Harry could hear their panting breaths over the music, feel the heat of their bodies. He could sense their building sexual excitement.

This was wrong! He wanted it to stop. No one should witness _this_. He tried to stop playing but his wrists were shackled to his bandoneon by tight leather straps and he couldn’t make his fingers still. Tom and B’Elanna seemed oblivious to his rising discomfort, and Tom was watching the couple as they rubbed their bodies against each other, a wolfish smile on his face. 

Wrong. It was wrong! 

Harry rocketed to consciousness with a gasp. “What…?” he said.

Tom’s face hove into view. “Hey, Hair. Before you ask,” he held up a silencing finger, “take a few deep, calming breaths.” Tom breathed with him, slowly in through the nose then out through the mouth. “Good boy.” He smiled. 

“What’s going on?” Harry’s eyes jerked around the room, taking in his lamp, his dresser, his couch in the distance. He tried to sit, but his arms were above his head. Tom placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. 

“Remember the away mission to that moon? With the vegetation?”

“Yeah?” Harry’s eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. 

“Well, we picked up a virus.” No harm in a little white lie.

“Okay. Why aren’t you tied to your bed?”

“Because I’m better now. But it’s taking a little longer to work its way through your system.’ 

“Why?” Harry was looking skeptical now. 

“I’m glad you asked.” Tom fiddled with a hypo, then pressed it to Harry’s neck. “See, the virus causes a condition—it’s temporary, don’t worry—but it’s aggravated by adrenaline, so you need to stay calm. 

“Okay,” Harry agreed. “What condition?” 

“You get a little… aggressive. And your hair grows. And you grow fangs. Sometimes you howl.”

“Howl? What…?”

“You turn into a wolf, Harry.”

“A wol— That’s insane.” Harry outright scowled this time.

“It does stretch the bounds of possibility, yes. But…” Tom shrugged. “Remember that puppy you found on the moon? And it bit you.”

“Y… Yes.” The memory was fuzzy, but it was there. “So I got some virus from being bitten?”

“And it’s almost worked its way through your system. Your viral load is almost back to normal.” Tom smiled, convincingly, he hoped. 

“So, how did you get it? Were you bitten too?”

“Ahhh…” Tom hedged. “You know how viruses are, Harry.” He smiled reassuringly. “They jump from person to person…” 

“This is ridiculous.” Harry pulled at his restraints. “You’re putting me on. This is your idea of a joke.”

“No joke, Harry.” Tom raised his hands, palm out, in a placating gesture. “You really, really need to stay calm. If you don’t, the captain will have to hand you over to Lieutenant Tuvok.”

“The brig?! You’re going to put me in the brig?!” Harry had a fleeting thought for his permanent Starfleet record and the immovable taint that a stay in the brig would bring to it. “But I didn’t do anything! Let me up! Untie me!” His skin prickled and started to itch, pain lanced through his bones. He fought against his restraints. 

“Damn it,” Tom muttered. He’d had the hypo prepared, and he leaned over Harry’s convulsing body and administered the sedative. Harry froze mid-thrash, then collapsed back onto the mattress. 

Tom sighed and pressed his combadge. “Paris to Captain Janeway. It didn’t work. Do you have any other ideas?”

“_Acknowledged_.” She sounded weary.

***

Ten days later Harry was sitting up on his bed, legs crossed, hands resting loosely in his lap. His viral load was down by half, and he hadn’t had an incident in almost a week. He was still restrained, but the straps were long enough to give him limited freedom of movement. 

Tom had suggested, instead of punishing bad behaviour, they reward him with _treats_ when he went a full day without a change, but the idea had been nixed but B’Elanna: the thought of food excited Harry too much.

“Sense the flame within you. Picture it burning brightly. Imagine it flickering softly, burning low. Banked. Now attempt to make the flame smaller.”

Harry closed his eyes and imagined his inner self as a flame, burning steadily, then flaring, before he tamped it down. It grew smaller and smaller until it was just a warm glow of embers. 

He hadn’t believed Tom’s fantastical story until he’d shown him the security vid. He’d been brought to sickbay by emergency beam out when the puppy had bitten him. The Doctor had treated his wound then released him. Twelve hours later, he’d been on duty on the bridge when they’d picked up fleet of Kazon warships on long-range sensors, and his pulse had jumped, and he’d come on full alert as adrenaline flooded his system. 

He’d watched the tape with a mixture of horror and fascination as he saw himself start to twitch, then stiffen, then sprout hair. He had dropped to the deck behind his console, and the camera hadn’t picked up his transformation, but his howls and, there was no other word for it—growls—had been recorded. 

Tom had twirled around in his chair, the captain and commander had stood. Tuvok and Ayala had moved toward him, phasers drawn. He’d popped up from behind his station, his uniform ripped off, naked and covered in long dark hair, and made a dash for the turbolift. Tuvok had cut him down with one well-aimed phaser blast. He’d stood there, cool as a cucumber, while the rest of the bridge crew remained frozen in shock. 

He would have thought that it was all some elaborate ruse, some practical joke instigated by Tom, but Tuvok didn’t strike him as someone who would get in on the fun. He had, however, come up with the solution: meditation, combined with a mild sedative, had kept Harry, well, almost hairless, for the last six days. 

Harry exhaled in a long, slow, even breath. 

“Very good, Ensign. How do you feel?”

“Calm. Like me. A little sleepy.”

Tuvok nodded. “I will return tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant,” Harry said. “I’d see you out, but…” He raised a hand and his strap flapped. 

His door chimed and the doors parted. Tuvok exited as Tom stepped in. They exchanged a nod, and the doors shut at Tom’s back. “Hey, Hair, how’s it going?”

“Fine. My inner flame is banked.”

Tom’s stride hitched but he recovered and crossed to the bed. “I brought you some lunch and something to read.”

“What is it?” Harry eyed the covered tray sceptically. 

“Don’t worry, it’s vet approved.” Tom grinned. “I tried to rustle you up some company, but Jenny Delaney refused to come by and rub your belly, sorry.”

“Tom!” 

“Sorry, just kidding.” Tom eyed him, looking for signs of excitement. “But B’Elanna said she’d stop by later and scratch you behind the ear if you want.”

“Har har.” 

Harry lifted the lid from the mess tray and curled his lip. Tom leaned over and took a peek. “That’s a dog’d breakfast, alright.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He picked up the PADD and thumbed it on: Never Cry Wolf by Farley Mowat. Little Red Riding Hood by the Brothers Grimm. White Fang by Jack London. Old Yeller. The Adventures of Lassie. 

“You’re a real comedian,” Harry said. 

Tom shrugged and pulled another PADD from a pocket in his jacket. “Would you rather watch a movie?”

Harry frowned, knowing what was coming but accepting it anyway. He wasn’t disappointed: Zoltan, Hound of Dracula, starring José Ferrer. Devil Dog: the Hound of Hell, starring Richard Crenna. An American Werewolf in London, starring David Naughten. The Howling, starring Robert Picardo. 

He shook his head and snorted a laugh. “Where’s the popcorn, funny guy?

Tom frowned. “I’m not sure you're supposed to feed a dog popcorn, Harry.”

Harry plucked a pokkel slug from his plate and pitched it at Tom’s head. He ducked, then moved to the replicator. He was back in a few moments with a bowl of popcorn. “Wanna start with ‘The Howling’?” 

“Sure,” Harry said, as he relaxed against his pillows.

*****

I feel like I should apologize for this foolishness. It was all to include the word, luposlipaphobia. Also, don’t smack your dog across the nose with a rolled up newspaper, what is wrong with you?!?!


	11. “It’s not always like this.”/power bottom, service top - threesom - window, balcony sex/stitches/ too many eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Caseyptah and her freeform fic capabilities, without which this would be a lame fic about Kes and Chell on Talent Night. And I couldn’t resist the nod to Firefly.

“It’s not always like this.”/power bottom, service top - threesom - window, balcony sex/stitches/ too many eyes.

*** 

“It’s not always like this!” The Arachnonian waved his vestigial arms in excitement. His eye stalks danced. “When you press this button, it reconfigures into this.” It pressed the button and the device reconfigured into something else that she didn’t want. 

“Actually, what I need is a catalyzer for an 80-04 engine.”

“We have what you need. What you don’t even know you want, too.” Six of his eyes retracted against his face as he nodded vigorously. 

Likely to prevent the stalks from tangling, Tom thought. He was bored. They were still on Veloz Prime, still docked while they took on supplies and waited for a couple more personnel to arrive. Tom had thought, when he’d agreed to take the job to pilot Chakotay’s heroic band of misfits in their fight against the Cardassian menace, that he’d actually be flying the ship, not accompanying its chief engineer on a shopping expedition. Apparently he was mistaken. 

He’d been sitting in the mess choking down a purloined ‘fleet ration pack for breakfast--fucking figs with fucking oatmeal--and a mug of coffee. That was one thing that they could do right: real coffee. He’d been with them for two days, stuck in port, waiting for someone named Seska to return from an unnamed errand. She was late. Scuttlebut had informed him that she was sleeping with the captain. Tom didn’t particularly care about that, but it did negate any likelihood that Chakotay would pull up anchor and leave without her. 

Torres had come storming in, followed closely by the man himself, and they’d been arguing. 

“I don’t need a bodyguard, Chakotay. And if I did, I wouldn’t choose _him_.”

“I don’t care what you think. You’re taking someone with you, and he has nothing to do until we lift off.”

“He’s an asshole.”

“So are you, sometimes.”

Tom had glanced up from his breakfast and was watching them. He couldn’t see Torres’ expression, but the look on Chakotay’s face said that now was one of those times.   
“You’re not leaving this ship unless you take him with you.” The look in the big man’s eyes said that was final. 

Torres slumped, and Tom heard her frustrated exhalation from where he sat at the communal table on the other side of the room. “Fine,” she said. She turned on her heel and walked right up to him, a frown pulling at her features. Her lush mouth was a thin, straight line. “Let’s go.”

“Uhhh. What?” Tom asked. He’d enjoyed the floor show, but he didn’t realize he was part of the second act. 

“I have to go to the market. You’re coming with me.”

“I am?”

She was already across the small room and out the door. Tom stood and gulped the remainder of his coffee, then jogged to catch up. For someone so short, she could move at a good clip. He wondered what she was planning to buy at the ‘market’. Clothing, perhaps? Some female grooming item? Shoes? God knew, his sisters all had lots of all three. 

The sun was blindingly bright, the temperature cool, but he’d assumed that as the day went on, the air would warm. He’d been right. Now, an hour later, standing behind her and a little off to the side while she haggled with the Arachnonian, Tom felt sweat prickle his underarms. He was picking through bits and bobs on a nearby table, sifting through boxes of what appeared to him to be junk: broken tools, dusty spools of frayed cable, he’d even found what looked like a burned out power cell for a Starfleet phaser. Garbage, all of it. Though, it might be possible to repair the cable. 

The proprietor was still pushing the whatever that thing was on Torres. It was a long, slim silver cylinder, about twenty centimeters in length, with some buttons along the side and a panel on the bottom that opened and contained a switch. If you flicked it one way, the tool could be used to… do something. But then, if you flicked it the other way, which the Arachnonian was busy illustrating to the increasingly testy engineer, the top half of the tool separated from the bottom and flipped, and it did something else. Two tools in one, apparently. Torres didn’t appear interested in either. 

“Power bottom,” the salesman pointed to the bottom of the cylinder, “service top! Spins for you. Does what you need.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Her tone was clipped, but Tom had the feeling she was trying to be polite. “I don’t need it. I need to repair my compression coil. Do you have the part?”

Tom stepped back a pace and folded his arms across his chest. There were other parts dealers, surely they’d wasted enough time with this one. “Look, Torres,” he began.

“Be quiet,” she snapped. 

Tom raised an eyebrow. 

“The catalyzer?” 

The proprietor hissed softly as if he’d sprung a leak and air was escaping from his… abdomen? thorax? and rubbed his head with his two dominant… arms? legs? 

“If you don’t have it,” Torres said, “I’m wasting my time here.” She took a step back and turned away from the counter, and the owner skittered around the end, moving toward her, his clawed feet scraping in the hard-packed earth roadway. His lower eyestalks bobbed. “Nevermind,” Torres said. “We’re going.”

He wished they would. If he were honest, Tom would admit that he was starting to get the willies from being around the… being. IDIC aside, there were some races, both Federation members and not, that still gave Tom pause despite his ‘fleeter upbringing, and the Arachnid races were one of them. His father would be ashamed of him. More ashamed. 

Tom scowled. 

“That’s too much,” she said.

Tom looked over at them and noted Torres’ frown. She was holding a metal part, not much larger than a ‘fleet PADD, though it was thicker and rounded. It had a pipe that protruded from one end, and two that stuck out the other at an angle. Tom had never seen one before, but he’d guess it was that catalyzer that she’d been after. 

“Five,” she said. 

The proprietor appeared to undulate, his legs shivering and body swaying. His eyes pulled tightly to his head. “You need part. We need eight.”

Torres shook her head and plunked the part back on the counter. “I don’t have eight. Six.”

She wasn’t as good at this game as she thought she was. Tom could see that she wanted it, and he thought she’d upped her bid too early. If they really did need the part, they were going to pay full price. 

“Must pay eight.” The creature wobbled in what Tom assumed was his version of a shrug. “Good deal.”

“I don’t have eight. I only have seven. If I give you that, I don’t eat tonight.”

“We eat once in ten-cycle. Mammals eat too often.” The Archnonian slid beside her and raised an arm to her shoulder. It’s articulated tip curled around her upper arm. What Tom had thought were small, vestigial arms up under its jaw clacked open and closed. He realized that they weren’t arms or legs, since it still had six on the ground, one on Torres, and another holding the engine part.

She tried to hide it, but Tom could see she was repulsed. He felt a shiver skitter down his own spine. Before he could even think, he’d stepped forward and knocked the being’s arm away from her. “Hey,” he demanded, “get your…” claw? paw? foot? “hands off my wife!”

“Paris!” She yelped and turned on him, sending him a scathing look. “I’m in charge here, remember? You’re just accompanying me.”

Tom just blinked. Did she want that giant spider pawing her? Even if she did, there was no reason for her to bite his head off!

“I’m guarding you, _be’nal_.” He stressed the word, a small _asshole-ish_ part of him hoping that he was pissing her off. 

She glared at him, then suddenly softened and pulled him toward her. “You’re right, husband,” she said, and her tone was placating. 

She let go of his collar and slipped her hand down his chest, her fingers playing with the hair visible in the deep V neck of his shirt collar. She leaned up on her toes and brought her face close to his and for a fleeting moment Tom thought she might kiss him. She rubbed her nose against his, and poked something long, hard, and cold down the front of his pants. 

She turned abruptly and faced the proprietor, her expression morphing into one of regret. “We were just recently bonded,” she explained. 

“Seven?” she asked. “If you take six, we can rent a room tonight.” Tom backed up a step, but her arm shot out and grabbed him, and tugged him in behind her. 

_We_, Tom wondered. Was she trying to game the guy into believing they were newlyweds, or trying to entice him into a threesome? He shuddered at the thought. Her fingers clamped tighter on his wrist. 

“Need seven.” 

B’Elanna tried a pout, but the seller was unmoved. She sighed elaborately, and turned her head to trade a sorrowful look with Tom. She turned back to the creature and nodded sadly, then pulled a pouch out of her pocket and counted out seven strips of some dull metal and put them on the counter. She picked up the catalyzer and walked away, pulling Tom behind her. 

“We in a hurry?” Tom asked.

“Yes,” she replied. 

“The ship’s that way.” Tom pointed to his left. He heard a commotion behind them and glanced over his shoulder.

“Fuck, run!”

She tossed the catalyzer onto the counter of a booth selling used clothing, and took off like a photon torpedo launched out of its tube, zigging and zagging through the throng of late-morning shoppers. Tom followed her, dodging around stalls of brightly dyed cloth and very breakable looking pottery. She ducked down a side street little wider than an alley, then took the first turn that she saw. Tom almost ran right past. The _thing_ in his pants was pressing on his belly and his right nut with each pump of his leg, and he clapped a hand over it. He assumed that it was why they were running now. 

“What the hell is going on, Torres?” he demanded the words breathy and lacking a bit of punch. He was winded already.

“In here.” She ducked through an open doorway and paused, then ran toward a set of stairs in the back of the dimly lit building. 

Tom closed the door behind him and followed her. He took the stairs two at a time, rounding the top a little too quickly. He slipped cracked his shoulder on the newel post. “Damn it,” he swore. The tool that she’d shoved down his pants jabbed him in the gut. 

He’d always been good at directions, a trait that came in handy stationed on a starship, and he knew that the rooms at the end of the hallway there were racing down would look over the main street that led to the docks. She must have had their escape planned before she’d lifted the tool. But she should have consulted him. He didn’t want to end up in jail in this backwater hole of a planet. Or worse, swinging. Not over some convertible two-in-one piece of crap that caught her eye. 

She ignored the doorways that led off the hallway. It ended in a large, unfurnished room with a set of double doors at the end; B’Elanna headed directly toward them. They were on a balcony, about a story and a half above the street. Tom could see a row of ships in the distance, though he couldn’t make out the _Liberty_. “Great,” he said. “Now what? 

“Shut up a minute.” 

She leaned over the railing and looked to the right. Tom took a peek--no giant spiders. He unfastened the fly of his pants and reached in. Her eyes grew round, and Tom stilled a moment, then scowled. He pulled the tube out of his pants. “What the fuck was that about? And why did you dump the catalyzer?”

“I don’t need the catalyzer.”

“But you do need this.” He nodded at the tool. 

“Yes.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to buy it?” 

She grabbed it from him and tucked it into her shirt. “I didn’t have enough. He wanted twenty for it. I didn’t have half that.”

“So you thought you’d just steal it?!” The idea wasn’t exactly foreign to him, but Tom had been raised on Earth, in a world of plenty. No one stole anything from anyone. If they needed something, they replicated it.

“I paid him what it was worth. He knows it.” 

She was leaning over the balcony now, looking for a ladder, maybe, or perhaps a convenient trailing vine to climb?

“There’s no way down.” 

“Yes there is.” She looked at him, fierce determination in her eyes, then swung a leg over the balustrade. “Jump.”

“Are you crazy?” 

She was nuts. Gorgeous, but nuts. He felt like he was in the middle of holonovel. He flew for about half a second. It wasn’t even long enough to enjoy it. The ground rushed up at him, then smacked into his feet far harder than he thought it would. The shock of it reverberated up his legs, and his knees felt like jelly. He dropped to the ground and rolled, his arm and shoulder taking the brunt of the fall, but his cheek hit the ground harder than he’d intended. It stung like a son of a bitch, then it just felt numb. Torres was already back on her feet and running. He followed her, his ankle hurting, his cheek stinging, and blood running down his face.

***

The bleeding had stopped, for the most part. Blood was still oozing from the cut, and the skin on his cheekbone was red and puffy. He wondered if he’d develop a black eye? He should be grateful that he still had all his teeth. He tallied up the results of his outings with the crazy Torres: an almost bar fight with a group of drunken Klingons, theft, almost becoming a giant spider’s dinner, physical injury. Though, he had to admit that as punishing as it had been, it had felt good to run, to exert himself with a little exercise. 

“It’s going to need stitches.” 

“What?” Tom’s mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. We don’t have the resources to waste on minor injuries. And even if we did, we don’t have a working dermal regenerator. Chell can put in a few stitches to close it up, and you can have a doctor look at it at the next colony world we stop at. If they have one and have the resources to spare on you.” 

Tom held a cloth to his abused cheek and just stared at the big man. This was ridiculous! Chakotay had turned his back on him so Tom turned his ire toward the woman who had gotten him into this mess.

“Why the hell did you involve me in this mess?” he demanded. 

“I didn’t want you to come with me.”

“And when I did, you still decided to steal that… thing.” 

“I told you. I have to fix the compression coil.”

“I thought that’s why you bought that other thing?”

She sent him a look that could only be described as icy. “That other _thing_ won’t fit our engine and he knew it. He was stealing from us. Besides, I didn’t steal it, I paid him.”

Tom was ready to argue the point but a tall, slim woman with auburn hair strode into the mess. She walked up to Chakotay and put her arms around his neck, leaning up for a kiss. “You're late,” he said.

“Did you miss me?” she asked. 

“Don’t push me.”

She pouted, then laughed, and stretched up to whisper in his ear. He laughed, and put an arm around her. 

Tom glanced at B’Elanna, expecting an introduction or at least an explanation. She was watching them, but looked away and busied herself with placing her purloined tool in her kit. She looked vulnerable suddenly, and very young. 

Oh, Tom thought. That was, obviously, the errant Seska. And Chakotay was, equally obviously, someone very important to B’Elanna. Well, didn’t that just figure? Tom scowled.

“Paris? Why are you still here?” Chakotay was frowning at him. “I told you to get that seen to. Go find Chell and go to the infirmary, the get up to the bridge. We’re getting underway.”

Tom stood and nodded. He glanced once more at B’Elanna and she was staring at him, shoulders back, chin jutted out. He sent her a little smile and a nod on his way out the door.

*****


	12. “What if I don’t see it?”/ spit kink - voyeurism - pet play/“Don’t move.” / the slasher.

“What if I don’t see it?”/ spit kink - voyeurism - pet play/“Don’t move.” / the slasher.

***

“What if I don’t see it?”

“You’ll have a tricorder. You should be able to track it with that.”

“Why can’t we just beam it back into its cage?”

“Because the galicite shielding is interfering with the sensors.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Harry,” B’Elanna frowned at her friend. “Do want to be the one to tell Naomi that Squeakers starved to death because you didn’t want to help look for him?” She raised an accusing eyebrow at her friend. 

Harry sighed. “I’ve never had a pet before. What if he bites me when I try to grab him?”

“Well, you’re not supposed to grab him, Harry,” Tom drawled. “Offer him some food. Let him come to you.”

Harry thought about Naomi’s little face, wet with tears as she sobbed into Neelix’ chest. She hadn’t secured Squeaker’s cage properly the last time she’d fed him, and he’d escaped. Since he was only fed once a week and was a burrowing animal she hadn’t known he was missing until she went to feed him again, and she wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone. The clock was ticking, as Tom would say. 

“Besides, Squeakers doesn’t have any teeth. It’s his claws you have to watch out for,” B’Elanna said.

***

They had tracked Squeakers to Jefferies tube 32, but because they were so close to the warp core they couldn’t pin down his whereabouts any tighter than that. Tom had gone one way, Harry the other. Harry had noted, somewhat sourly, that B’Elanna wasn’t on her hands and knees on a cold metal grill. 

He was clunking along, his palmlight flashing glare and shadows along the walls and ceiling of the tube. It was a little creepy. The shadows resembled giant rat-like creatures, all fangs and claws, ready to pounce on him. Squeakers didn’t look like one, though. He was more a cross between a mouse and a bunny, with long floppy ears and a little fluffy nub of a tail. He had a pointed, whiskered snout which was indeed toothless, but he made up for it with his six legs, all ending in a set of very sharp, pointed claws on his feet. 

They had been trading with the Mari, before the incident with B’Elanna had thrown that into chaos, and Sam Wildman had brought Naomi down to the planet to ‘feel real sun on her skin and wind in her hair’. They had been wandering through the market when they’d encountered a booth selling the little rodents, and Naomi had begged to be allowed one as a pet. Despite the limited resources onboard, the captain had caved to Naomi’s big blue eyes. Harry had never had a pet as a child; he didn’t see the allure. But Naomi did, and Tom had impressed upon him how important it was to get Squeakers back for her, which was how Harry found himself crawling through a Jefferies tube on what would otherwise have been his day off. 

Tom was a pro at laying on the guilt. 

B’Elanna had appealed to his more pragmatic side: if Squeakers stripped the insulating foam and fabric from the power transfer conduits to make a nest, Harry would be spending a hell of a lot more time on his knees repairing the mess. 

He heard a sound and paused. Nothing. His imagination was playing with him. Or maybe it was Tom screwing with him. He took a tentative ‘step’ forward, and it came again: a scratching, scuffling sound. “Tom? Is that you?” Harry called. He stilled and shone his light around the tube. Sure enough, about five metres ahead of him, he spied a looping cable hanging toward the floor. He shuffled closer and saw that there were fluffs of insulator material lying on the grill. The outer casing of the cable looked shredded. 

“Great,” Harry sighed. He moved closer and eyed the cable: it looked largely intact. Which was a good thing since he didn’t want to have to bring back the carcass of Naomi’s electrocuted pet. Though it would be easier to handle. He sat up and tapped his combadge.

“Kim to Torres.” She was ‘Rescue Central’ for this little operation. 

“_Torres here. Did you find anything, Harry?_”

“A length of shredded cable. I wanted to warn you that I’m shutting down power to grid 32 Theta.”

“_Sure. Go ahead._”

Harry tapped a few commands into the junction and the lights in the tube went out, replaced a half a second later by the dim glow of the battery powered emergency lighting. 

“_Does this mean you found him?_” she asked.

“Well,” Harry said, “I assume he’s around here somewhere.” 

He turned and angled his palmlight into the corners, sliding its beam along the walls in a slow sweep. He almost missed it. He was used to seeing ready lights glinting along the power access grid and his brain took a few seconds to register what he saw. The twin shining green lights were eyes reflecting the beam of his flashlight. 

He froze with his hand pointing accusingly at the rodent. Slowly, he raised his other hand to his chest and tapped his combadge. “Kim to Paris and Torres. I found him.”

“_Thank god!_” Tom replied. “_My knees are killing me._”

“_Whatever you do, don’t spook him!_” B’Elanna cautioned. “_He isn’t called The Slasher for nothing._” 

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Harry murmured. He ‘knee walked’ a little closer to Squeakers, and heard a chittering sound. Was that a friendly noise, or a ‘I’m going to rip your arm off’ noise? 

“_I’m on my way._”

“No!” Harry cut him off before he finished. The last thing he needed was Tom banging around in here, scaring _the Slasher_.

“Okay, little buddy,” Harry said. “If you don’t move, I’m just going to come over there and put you in this little carrying case.” He modulated his voice so it sounded calm and reassuring, which was no mean feat since he was anything but. He reached up and grabbed the strap of the case and lifted it over his head and set it on the deck. He opened the little door and glanced inside. Naomi had outfitted two of them, one for him and one for Tom, with soft bedding and Squeakers’ favourite treats. “Nice and cozy. Just like home.”

He slid the case along the grill one arm-length, then shuffled forward and did it again. Squeakers chuffed at him and backed up. His ears were flattened to the back of his head, and his mid-legs were up, claws extended. His fur was sticking up in a spikey ruff. 

“All you need to do is just walk in…” Harry sing-songed. 

Squeakers’ eyes glowed red now, and Harry frowned. A little frizzen of fear slid up his spine. 

“_Harry? Do you have him?_” B’Elanna. 

Squeakers hissed and bared his gums. His body seemed to compress into a belligerent ball of fur.

“Not quite.” Harry twirled the carrying case and plucked a piece of lurzt melon from inside, then extended his hand toward the hissing, spitting little fluffball. 

“_Harry?_”

“Quiet, I think he’s getting a little spoo—”

Harry’s startled shout echoed down the Jefferies tube.

*

Tom and B’Elanna had been watching Harry’s progress through the Jefferies tube on a monitor, and they both cringed when Squeakers the Slasher flew at him in a blur of fur and claws. 

“You’d think he would have learned his lesson with that dog-wolf thing a couple of years ago,” Tom observed. 

B’Elanna’s face was creased in mock-pain, lips compressed, nose wrinkled, her eyes slitted as she watched Harry launch himself backward, Squeakers flying through the air toward him.

“I think it’s time to send in the big guns,” Tom said.

She nodded, and tapped her combadge. “Torres to Ensign Wildman. We’ve located him, but I think we’ll need some help in bringing him in.” 

*

Naomi clutched the carrying case close to her tiny chest, showing off her pet to anyone who would look. She relayed the tale of how she’d had to crawl through Jefferies Tube 32, a previously restricted activity, to rescue Squeakers from certain death. 

Harry sat at a table near the viewport nursing a cup of replicated coffee and his right hand. The Doctor had mended the deep slices in his flesh that The Slasher had inflicted, and admonished him that if Squeaker had aimed a hair to the left, he would have severed Harry’s palmaris longus, not that it mattered because it was basically unnecessary to the movement of the hand. Then he’d launched into an editorial on evolution and redundant biological systems before ending with an admonishment to refrain from startling small mammals. 

“You know, you really are the hero of the hour, Harry,” B’Elanna assured him.

“Yay, me,” Harry retorted. 

“And if you start to grow another set of legs or your nose gets all pointy, we’ll take you back to sickbay right away,” Tom added.

“Though,” B’Elanna thought a moment, “he’d look awfully cute with long ears and little puffy tail. And maybe he’d develop a taste for lurtz melon.”

“Somebody has to,” Tom agreed. 

“You two are real comedians,” Harry said. “A laugh a minute.” 

“Don’t get your whiskers in a knot, Harry,” Tom said.

B’Elanna snorted. Naomi Wildman appeared at Harry’s elbow. “Squeakers says he’s sorry he scratched you.” She smiled at him and hefted the cage onto the mess table. Harry backed away slightly. “He was just scared.”

“That’s… okay.” Harry flicked a glance at the beaming little girl, then zeroed his attention on the sleeping rodent. “No harm done.” 

“Thank you for finding him.” She raised up on her toes and kissed Harry on the cheek. 

Harry smiled awkwardly and patted her on the shoulder. “You’re welcome,” he said. He continued smiling as he watched her bounce toward a table shared by the captain and Chakotay, her long hair swinging against her back. 

“You’re my hero, too, Harry,” B’Elanna noted. She leaned across the table and gave him a peck on his other cheek. 

Harry glanced at Tom, who looked like he was getting ready to lean across the table himself. “Don’t even think about it,” he said.


	13. “I never knew it could be this way.”/hair pulling - blood play - squirting - near death experience/ adrenaline / The Grim Reaper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one sucks but I’ve had weekend guests, plus it’s Thanksgiving, and it’s getting late and I need a shower and they can’t all be winners. Sorry.

Day 13:

“I never knew it could be this way.”/hair pulling - blood play - squirting - near death experience/ adrenaline / The Grim Reaper

***

“I never knew it could be this way…”

Her voice held a note of wonder amid the obvious affection, and Tom smiled into her eyes. His index finger trailed up her thumb and over the knuckles of her left hand. He wanted to lace their fingers together, to bring her hand to his mouth for a kiss. He wanted to scrape his teeth over her palm, bite gently on the muscle below her thumb. “You liked it?” He’d been hoping… 

“Yeah. You couldn’t tell?”

“Well, you did seem ravenous.”

She laughed. “I guess when I’m with you, I work up an appetite.” 

Her eyes held his, and he felt himself warm at the promise in them. “It was pretty good this time.”

“Incredible,” she agreed. 

How long they’d been dating depended on which one of them you asked: Tom would say three months, adding up the holodeck time and the meals they’d shared, both private and in the mess with half of alpha shift watching, and a couple of survey missions that had found them alone together in a shuttlecraft for hours with nothing to do but talk. Even the handful of evenings they’d sat in her quarters with a bunch of PADDs littering the couch cushions between them had been warped into a date in his mind. The time she’d kissed him good night at her door--on the cheek, but still--was burned into his memory and his epidermis.

She, of course, would state uncategorically that it had only been three weeks. Since the awkward, passionate kiss in the corridor outside the mess hall, and after, the dinner in her quarters that had turned into breakfast in bed. The dozen more times they’d made love since then. 

“I mean, I’ve tried it that way before, but,” she smiled at him and shook her head slightly, “this time, whatever you added, it was so much better. Sweeter.” 

Tom noted the faint flush on her cheeks. It may have been exertion—they’d just come from some private time together on holodeck one. He’d known she’d love the programme when he’d seen it listed in the database, but her initial avoidance of the idea the first time he’d suggested it had had him pulling his hair out. She’d flatly refused; wouldn’t even discuss it. She was always so damned suspicious. He’d had to resort to cajoling and contrivance and outright trickery to get her to try it, and despite her negative reaction after their first time, now it was one of the few things she actually wanted to do with him in the holodeck. Well, that, and spend time here, in the resort. 

They’d finally finished level six of the Klingon workout programme. His own blood was still pumping in his veins from his encounter with the _cob’lat_, adrenaline still rushing through his system. They’d had to work together to bring it down, fighting side by side, always wary in case its mate appeared to defend it. The battle had been bloody, both of them had been sprayed with the animal’s blood when Tom’s lucky strike with his _bat’leth_ had slashed its throat. The blood had even been warm; it really was an exceptional programme.

With the big cat’s defeat, they’d graduated to level seven, but they’d run out of time to try it today. It didn’t matter, Tom just liked being with her. She took another pull on the straw in her glass, but the leola root fruit smoothie was gone. 

“Well, I asked Neelix to put a special ingredient in there, just for you.” 

They’d tried to keep their relationship private. That had lasted all of a few days before everyone on the ship knew they were together, but Tom found he liked it better now that everyone knew. Now that it was official. 

“You did? That was nice of you.” She smiled.

He smiled back. “Would you like another?” 

“Well, actually…” 

Tom stood and made his way over to the bar, which was liberally decorated with palm fronds and flowering vines. “Hey, Neelix,” He waggled the empty pineapple-shell cup. 

“B’Elanna liked it?” he asked, hopeful optimism positively squirting out of his pores. 

“Loved it. In fact, she liked it so much, she wants another.”

“Coming right up!” 

Neelix beamed! He turned and began assembling the various fruits, including bananas and a big chunk of leola root. 

“Hey, Tom.” Harry appeared at his elbow dressed in his uniform. 

“You’re a little overdressed, Harry,” Tom noted. 

“I’m on lunch.” He looked Tom up and down. “You look like you’ve just had a near-death experience. Did the beach volleyball team beat the pants off you again?”

Tom laughed. “No, but B’Elanna and I are on level seven of the Klingon workout programme. It’s… vigorous.” 

“Yeah. You look like you’ve gone ten rounds with a wildcat.” 

Well, some nights… He had yet to convince her that the holodeck privacy locks were private enough, but he lived in hope. She’d been excited when they’d defeated the cat, her skin glowing with exertion, hair wild, an exultant look in her eyes. She’d been almost irresistible. Of course, the computer’s two-minute warning that their time was ending had calmed him down somewhat. 

“As a matter of fact,” Tom said, “the last opponent on level six is a _cob’lat_, a Klingon wild cat. Fangs ten centimetres long, big claws. It must have weighed a hundred kilos.”

“Sounds grim,” Harry said.

“Yeah, well, it was out for blood. But we managed to get the better of it.”

Harry twisted and looked on either side of him exaggeratedly. “Where’s your _bat’leth_?”

“I use a holographic one. But I’ve been thinking of saving the rations to replicate one.” 

Neelix placed two cups of leola smoothie on the bar in front of Tom and garnished each with skewered fruit and a little umbrella. 

“That looks good,” Harry noted. 

“Would you like one, Ensign Kim?” 

“Sure, thanks, Neelix. A knife would be cheaper. Or a sword.”

“Yeah, maybe. But nothing beats a good _bat’leth_ as a fighting weapon. The weight and balance, the reach.”

“You could try a scythe. Mow down all the enemies in your path.” Harry grinned. He clasped his hands together and raised them high above his head, then brought them down across his body in an arcing motion ‘slicing’ the air.

“Careful, Harry,” Tom said, “you’ll cut your knees off.”

“A what?” Neelix asked. 

“A long curved blade on a long handle. Used to cut grain crops at harvest time a very long time ago.” 

“Oh…” Neelix nodded and plunked a brimming pineapple cup in front of Harry. 

“Also used by the Grim Reaper to cut down the living and harvest their souls,” Harry said. His eyes went round and his eyebrows rose. 

“Oh, that sounds terribly exciting,” Neelix exclaimed. 

“It’s probably a quick way to go, anyway,” Tom said. He picked up the cups of juice. “But if I don’t get this back to B’Elanna…” 

“Your death will be slow and painful?” Harry asked.

Slow… slightly painful… what a way to go. Tom just smiled and turned back toward his lady love. He was excited to try level seven, but he was happy just sitting with her in the holographic sunshine and holding her hand. 

***


	14. “I can’t come back.”/shibari - exhibitionism - voyeurism/ tear-stained / Bats!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know from my extremely brief research that this isn’t actually shibari but in what I read I didn’t get the idea that shibari actually gave anyone any sexual satisfaction so maybe it’s close enough?

Day 14:

“I can’t come back.”/shibari - exhibitionism - voyeurism/ tear-stained / Bats!

***

“I can’t come back. I’m sorry, baby, but once we ship out we’ll be gone.”

The girl—young woman—turned her tear-stained face upward and Tom wiped at her cheek with his thumb. 

“But I thought what we had together was special.” Her chin quivered. Her voice quavered. 

“It was, baby. But…” She’d known it wouldn’t last, hadn’t she? She couldn’t have been under any illusions. He’d come in on Chakotay’s ship, and she had to have known that meant he’d be leaving on it, too. 

It was his own fault, he realized. She was too young, younger than the women he usually went with, but she’d singled him out, and she’d been persistent, obvious, downright aggressive. And he was a sucker for Bajoran nose ridges. And she had the body of a woman. He was a breast man, and hers were, well...adult. Despite her youth, he hadn’t been her first, and they’d passed a couple of nights together while Chakotay strategized with the local Resistance leaders and the rest of the crew had unloaded supplies. 

It had been okay. He’d come, sure, but it was nothing earth-shattering. And he’d made her come too, he thought. He hoped. For all her initial aggressiveness, she’d been pretty quiet. And limp. Kind of unresponsive. She was eager about other things, though. He’d been surprised she hadn’t choked.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he repeated. “Maybe we’ll come through again.” What the hell had made him say that? He didn’t want to encourage her. In fact, this whole morning-after-the-night-before was taking way too long. Chakotay had been clear that he expected to take off two hours after sunrise, and no later. He needed to stop trying to placate the weeping girl and go!

He cupped her cheek, then leaned down and placed a chaste—for him—kiss on her mouth. “You take care of yourself,” he said as he straightened. 

He turned toward the stairs that led upward to the door of small underground apartment and took a step, then pitched forward suddenly as pain numbed his body. It radiated from the back of his skull down his neck and spine, up over the top of his head to his forehead. His limbs were suddenly weak, his vision blurred. His knees buckled and he hit the floor with a bone-jarring _splat_! 

Darkness crowded his vision, and he fought to stay conscious. His cheek pressed into the hard-packed earth floor. His face throbbed. _I just got that cut healed,_ he thought. Three shadowy legs appeared in front of his face, two angled upward, meeting at their apex, and the third straight upright. It made no sense. 

She knelt, and her sweet face swam into view, her mouth curving in a slight smile. “Now you can stay,” she said. 

Darkness won. 

***

He woke slowly, head throbbing, tongue feeling like he’d drank the little settlement dry. But he hadn’t had any of the home-made booze, per edict from Chakotay. Or had he? Maybe he’d had far too much and couldn’t remember? 

He groaned and attempted to roll over, but couldn’t. His limbs were stiff, muscles feeling like they were tied in knots. He felt the softness of a blanket under his cheek, and opened his eyes. Dim light filtered into the room through windows that were set high up in the walls. He saw a short dresser, a table, the staircase in the corner, close but much too far away for how his frozen limbs were feeling. He was still in the little underground apartment. “Hey!” he said. His voice sounded rusty. 

“Shhhh.” 

Something poked him in the back, near his ribs, pulled on his left arm. He tried to flex his fingers but they felt numb. He tilted his chin and looked ‘upward’: a wall. He was lying on the thin sleeping mat, one arm behind his back, the other held firmly against his chest. She’d knocked him out and somehow levered his inert body onto the low bed.

“What…? What’s going on?”

“I told you I wanted you. Now you won’t leave.”

Tom tugged at his bindings. His body jerked. “That’s funny,” he tried. 

“No,” she said.

He thrashed. Something small and hard dug into his wrist. A tight band squeezed his arm and belly. He realized he was naked and tied, and he looked down at his chest. He was lying on his right side, and his right arm was placed across his belly, his hand cupping his left hip. His left arm was angled behind his back, elbow bent, the back of his hand resting on his right shoulder blade. His open palm faced outward, and he flexed his fingers. He could wiggle them, but he couldn’t make a fist. 

“Actually, this isn’t funny,” he said. 

‘No,” she agreed.

“Look, I need to go. Chakotay’s expecting me.” She didn’t appear to hear him; she was busy tying knots along his ribs. He could feel her small fingers as they laced soft rope under and over, skimming his skin. What the fuck?

“He needs me to fly the ship; I’m the pilot so I think he’s going to notice that I’m missing.” It was true and not. Several members of the crew could fly the ship, including Chakotay himself and, considering where he’d found him, he might believe that Tom was somewhere sleeping it off. He very well might leave without him. 

He thrashed, his body flailing on the thin mattress. His legs were also bound, tied together at various points along his legs: ankles, calves, thighs. He looked down and studied the intricate knotwork that she’d—what the fuck was her name again?—designed. She’d used more than one rope. Each band of his restraints was actually three ropes side by side, crossing over each other in intricate knotwork. Each band was linked to the other by vertical lengths of rope, again knotted, the strands looping backward and over and under. He would have admired the artistry of it if he hadn’t been the one tied up. It might even have been fun if he’d been asked!

She appeared to finish, then slid an arm under his shoulder and heaved him up onto his naked bottom. She pulled upward on his knees so they were tented in front of him, made sure he was balanced, then climbed off the bed and walked to the foot to admire her handiwork. 

“You look beautiful,” she said. 

He shot a glance at the door, all the way up that long staircase. Even if he could wriggle to the edge of the bed and stand, he’d have to somehow keep his balance while he wiggled over to it and hopped up the stairs. There was no banister, and with his arms tied, he couldn’t even pull himself up holding onto the wall.

“Look, baby, a joke’s a joke, but I really do have to go.”

“No, you don’t. Not now.” She smiled at him again, then her eyes lit. “Are you hungry? I could feed you. I want you to be comfortable.” 

Was she out of her mind?!?! Actually, she probably was, he thought ruefully. He needed to get out of there, sooner rather than later. He needed to devise a plan. And the first step was to get her away long enough for him to figure out how to get out of the ropes. 

“Yes.” He nodded. “I’m famished. I… I have a medical condition. I need to eat regularly.” Brilliant!

Her brows drew together and her nose wrinkled. “Oh,” she said. She crossed to a shelf and took down a loaf of bread.

“I can’t eat that.” Tom nodded at the loaf. “My condition.” He shrugged.

“But this is all I have.” She looked perplexed.

“I need something fresh. Something… fruit. Or a vegetable. Something green. The chlorophyll,” he bullshitted, dredging up memories of his grade four natural sciences class. “Without it I… can have a fit. I start to convulse.” 

She frowned again, and studied him, then nodded. Her smile lit her eyes with warmth. “I will go to the market. I can find us something for our evening meal.” 

Evening?! How long had he been out? Tom relied on his old ‘fleet training to keep his expression neutral. “That sounds wonderful,” he said. “Thank you.”

She smiled and dipped her head, and reached for a cloak hung on a peg on the wall. She all but skipped up the stairs. 

As soon as the door closed behind her, he leaned forward and dug his heels into the mattress, spinning on his naked ass. He stretched out his legs but found they were bound under his knees, calves to thighs. He had about thirty centimeters of give. He cursed quietly, then wiggled forward and hooked the edge of the bed with his heels and pulled. His butt scooted toward the edge. He pulled again and found himself falling, landing on his face. Fuck! It hurt, but his shoulder and knees took the brunt of the fall. He lay there on the hard floor for a moment, catching his breath. 

He wiggled, humping along the floor like an earthworm, and may have moved a few centimetres. His shoulder and hip stung. He tried throwing his body upward, but he only succeeded in rolling onto his side. He simply didn’t have the leverage to sit, let alone stand. She would be back, would see that he’d attempted to escape, and her good mood would likely vanish. He glanced over his shoulder but the end of the blanket was simply too far away for him to grab with his teeth. He would have to lie there, naked and exposed until she came back, then he could try to reason with her. 

He heard a muffled shout outside, the sound of children playing, maybe, and jerked his head toward the window. He could lie there and wait, or he could shout for help. It was a no-brainer, really. 

“Hey!” he hollered. “Hey, help! Down here!” He paused and listened. “Anyone! Help me!”

He shouted himself hoarse before he gave up. He didn’t know how much time had passed. He’d closed his eyes, tried to relax his body. He tensed then relaxed his muscles starting at his feet and moving upward, encouraging his blood to keep circulating. Once he’d given up trying to escape, he discovered that he wasn’t in pain. In the dim light of the little room, he found himself admiring her skill in knotwork. Even the placement of the ropes across his body didn’t bind, really, unless he fought them. His body felt loose, lax after the adrenaline rush in his initial panic, and he closed his eyes and drifted.

*** 

Chakotay had apparently decided that he was her problem. Why, she couldn’t quite figure. Maybe she’d pushed him once too often or too far. He was the captain, but that didn’t mean that she always obeyed his orders without question. There were other things she could be doing right now instead of tracking down the ship’s pilot. Shit, in a pinch she could fly the damn ship herself! 

“Tall, sandy hair, blue eyes. Are you sure you haven’t seen him?” 

“His hair looks dark.” 

“It’s an old photo.” Chakotay had managed to purloin an old Academy photo of Paris and upload it onto an equally purloined PADD. She was wandering the market, showing it to anyone who would look. 

“Starfleet?” The proprietor of the fruit stall took a step backward.

“Not anymore. He’s with us now.” Maybe. Or maybe he’d skipped out on them, deciding that he’d rather hide out on this backwater dustbowl than risk his neck in the Badlands. 

“I saw him. Yesterday.”

B’Elanna turned and saw a group of boys standing a few metres away. They were silent and sullen, but she could tell by the look on the skinny one’s face that he was the one who’d spoken. “Where?”

His gaze shifted from her to a large, round pink melon. 

“Where?” she repeated.

“Outside the hospital. He went with someone.”

B’Elanna took a step toward him. “Who?” His eyes drifted back to the fruit stand. She sighed and pulled out her purse. She nodded at the seller, and handed over a strip of money in exchange for the fruit. “You’d better not lie to me,” she cautioned the boy.

“He went with Ozi Oatini.”

B’Elanna rolled her eyes and stifled a groan. ‘Tini was aptly named: small, stacked, and bat-shit crazy. Some said she’d been ‘touched by the prophets’, but B’Elanna thought she must have been dropped on her head as a baby. She was ‘off’. Strange. And sexually promiscuous. Chakotay had warned off the crew because of her youth, but he must have forgotten to give Paris the lecture. 

“Where’s her dwelling?” she asked, holding out the fruit.

The boy snatched it from her hands and pointed behind him as they ran off. 

* 

The door was heavy, and it creaked on its hinges when B’Elanna pushed it open. She had to put her shoulder into it. Late afternoon sunlight spilled into the room, angling around her body and striking the small landing on the steep staircase. It was a good thing she’d paused to get her bearings, she thought, or she’d have walked right off the edge of the platform and fallen into the room below. 

Filtered light came in through the high-set windows, and dust motes danced in the air. She took the stairs slowly, her hand trailing along the wall since there was no handrail. The stairs were sloping and oddly spaced, and she didn’t want to twist an ankle and pitch headfirst onto the floor. She scanned the room as she descended. It was neat and tidy: a small table and one chair in one corner, a cupboard, and chest in another. A shelf attached to the bracing timbers that held the mud walls in place was filled with dishes, and a loaf of bread sat on the worktop below. The place was empty, ‘Tini wasn’t there. 

“Damn it,” she muttered. If they weren’t here, where were they? She heard a noise, stepped down another step, and saw him. Paris was lying on the floor, his body curled in the foetal position, completely naked. 

“Fuck,” she swore. He must be sleeping off some drunken bender. 

“Hey.” 

His voice sounded rusty, and she heard him clear his throat. 

“Hey, Torres is that you? Help me out here.” 

His head was angled toward her, his chin up and throat extended, and his body twitched and bounced on the floor. She took another step and realized that he was bound with ropes, tied up and restrained. She’d had no idea he was into… this. 

Her first impulse was to laugh. Then she looked at him. His body glinted in a shaft of sunlight, golden and more muscled than he’d appeared in his loose clothing. His arms and legs and chest had a fine covering of golden red hair, and shadows and highlights played on his pale skin. He glowed. 

She tilted her head and looked her fill. She took her time staring at him, observing him, from his golden head to his long limbs. Her eyes paused on his torso, taking in the width of his shoulders, his narrow hips and his long thick cock. It was perhaps half erect, likely from his embarrassment at having been caught like this, but she was an engineer: she could imagine what it look like once it was fully engorged. 

Her lips twitched. “Having fun?” she drawled. 

“Un. Tie. Me.” He flopped on the floor again, bucking and straining against the ropes.

She finally did laugh. “What the hell happen—”

“He’s mine!”

B’Elanna whirled around and saw that ‘Tini had returned. She was standing at the bottom of the stairs, a market basket dropped on the floor at her feet, and a long, thick, deadly-looking stick in her hands. B’Elanna backed up a step, bringing her a bit closer to Paris.

“And, ordinarily, I’d let you keep him. But Chakotay wants him back.”

“No!” Oatini stamped her foot and raised the club. “He can’t leave. I need him!”

“Well, then we have a problem. Chakotay needs him too. I need him.” 

“He’s mine!” she insisted.

“No, he’s not. He’s…” She risked a glance over her shoulder at Paris, struggling on the floor. He’d rolled onto his back, and was flopping around like a hooked fish on the bottom of a boat. 

“He’s mine. He’s my husband.”

The young woman paused, and her club lowered fractionally. “But, we… he came with me. He shared my bed.” Hurt crossed her features and her resolve wavered. 

“He does that. I’ve been looking for him for two days,” B’Elanna said. Her hands had been balled into fists, but she consciously relaxed them and extended them palms out, in a placating gesture. “I need to bring him home now.”

Oatini seemed to acquiesce, and B’Elanna relaxed, her shoulders lowering, spine straightening from the crouch she’d adopted. Then the enraged young woman flew at her, bat raised. B’Elanna ducked under her swing and rushed her, slamming her shoulder into ‘Tini’s gut. The girl staggered backwards, and B’Elanna swung her clasped fists at her arm. She dropped the bat and fell, her head bouncing off the third step. She sagged to the floor.

B’Elanna approached her and paused, assessing her, then bent and put her fingers to the pulse point at her neck. She was alive, and would likely be fine, but she’d wake up with one hell of a headache. 

“What’s happening? What’s going on?” Tom shouted. He was thrashing again, trying to see. 

B’Elanna turned back toward him and looked at him, and sighed. She drew her knife from its sheath in her boot. Tom was watching her with round eyes as she walked toward him. She crouched, her eyes raking his body one more time. 

“Get on with it,” he groused. “Before she wakes up.” 

“I have to figure out where to cut. It’s remarkable, really. Beautiful. It’s almost a shame to ruin it.”

“Look, Torres. I’m sure this is all very amusing for you, but my ass is in the wind here and my extremities are going numb.”

She grinned and reached for him, her hands sliding over warm skin and firm muscles. She rolled him toward her, onto his side, and leaned over him. His face was very close to her crotch, but she didn’t care. Let him sweat. 

“I should leave you here. Tell Chakotay I couldn’t find you. Or better yet, go back to the ship and get Mike and Ken to carry you back.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

She straightened and stared him in the eye. “Try me.” 

“I’m sorry,” he bit his lip. “Really, I am.”

She leaned over him again and slid the dull edge of her knife over his ribs and under the rope. She angled it, and one snapped. He twitched. “Hold still,” she ordered. Methodically, she cut the ropes one by one, leaving the knots intact. There was no point in trying to untie them. She freed his arm first, then moved on to his legs, noting his firm ass and thighs, his muscular calves and long, slim feet. All that ‘fleet physio training, she assumed. 

Finally, she was done, and he stood a little shakily. His hand grabbed his dick. She smirked and turned away. “Over there,” she said. His clothing was hung on a peg at the head of the bed, his boots lined up neatly beneath them. 

He dressed quickly while she put away her knife and kicked the bits of rope to the side. “Anyone would have warned you if you’d asked, you know.” 

“Now you tell me.” 

“They say she’s touched by the prophits.” B’Elanna observed the unconscious girl lying in a heap on the floor. 

“She’s touched, all right,” he said.

“Help me with her.” 

She weighed almost nothing. B’Elanna could possibly have picked her up and put her on the bed herself, but she figured Paris owed it to both of them. 

“Chakotay’s not going to be too happy.”

“Well he can join the club,” Tom growsed. “I’m not thrilled by being knocked unconscious and trussed up like a prize pig, myself.”

“You can explain it to him. Next time you want to… dock your rocket, find a grown up, not a deranged girl.”

“She looked pretty damned grown up to me,” he flared. His gaze roved over B’Elanna’s back and ass as he followed her up the stairs. “Is that an offer, _be’nal_?” He could hope.

She paused on the landing and stilled, and her head turned slightly. “One well-placed kick and you’re back on the floor,” she warned. 

Tom smiled and nodded, and followed her out into the late-afternoon sunshine.


	15. That’s what I’m talking about!”/ ballbusting - toys / scars/ creepy + crawly

Day 15:

“That’s what I’m talking about!”/ ballbusting - toys / scars/ creepy + crawly

***

“That’s what I’m talking about! Come on, sweetpea. Come get Toby.” 

Tom waggled the little stuffed toy in front of his daughter’s face. Her eyes went round with desire; she sucked in her bottom lip. Her bum wiggled, and she rocked back and forth. “Ma!” she screeched. 

She was up on her hands and knees and, after numerous lectures from the Doc, Tom was encouraging her to crawl. He didn’t agree that it was a necessary milestone. He’d done his reading and believed that babies who skipped the crawling phase and went straight to pulling themselves up and walking did just fine with their motor development. But, unfortunately, that was the point. At eight months old, she was content to be carried everywhere, and Tom was content to do her bidding. It had been a point of contention between him and B’Elanna, with Tom willing to give in to Miral’s cries, plucking her up and setting her back down wherever she demanded, or offering her toys one by one until he hit upon the one she wanted. 

B’Elanna, more bad cop to his mushy cop, insisted that she had to learn to get around on her own. Tom had countered with, I won’t be carrying her to school! She’d given him the look that he reserved for her when she was being hyperbolic, and implored him to count to ten before he gave in to Miral’s temper. 

But the truth was, he liked to carry her around. When she was still an infant, it was Tom who had her strapped to his chest. She’d slept on his shoulder, or draped across his belly as he lay on the couch. They’d graduated from a sling to an outward-facing chest carrier, and as soon as she gained another kilo, Tom was going to try her in a backpack carrier. Even as a small infant, she’d loved being carried up high on his shoulder, her big dark eyes taking in everything around her. 

And besides, B’Elanna was still nursing her, and despite recognizing that it was irrational to be jealous of that close bond they shared, jealous he was. The time he spent as her lacky cum manservant was important daddy-Miri bonding time, to him anyway. 

He bounced Toby on the floor, just out of her reach. “Come get him.” 

She rocked again, teetering backward and forward, her chunky arms and sweetly dimpled knees supporting her. A long, viscous strand of drool dripped from her mouth onto the carpet. Tom’s heart melted, but he fought the urge to gather her up in his arms and squeeze her. 

“Ma!” she demanded. 

That was another thing: despite being assured that most babies’ first word was da, hers had been ma. The fact that everything in her world was ma—B’Elanna, him, Toby, her soother, trees, the neighbour’s dog—didn’t matter. If she wasn’t going to say dada, at least daddy could teach her to do something and show it off to mama. 

“If you want him, you have to come get him,” Tom said in the most reasonable tone he could muster.

Her bottom lip quivered, her two bottom teeth flashed and her little face crumpled along with her arms, and she plonked face first on the plush carpet. “Maaaa….” she wailed. 

Be strong, Tom thought. This is how you raise a warrior. “Come on, sweetpea, here he is.”

She poked her head up—her eyes weren’t even wet—then collapsed back onto the floor, bum in the air. Tom sighed. Count to ten, he advised himself. _wa’, cha’, wej, loS_. She was back up, hands and knees steady. Tom waggled the stuffed toy. She reached, tipped forward, and brought her arm down five centimetres closer to Toby than she had been! She looked startled, and lifted her other hand and plunked it down. Her knees followed. 

Tom’s eyebrows shot to his rapidly retreating hairline, he grinned wide. “That’s it, come to daddy.”

She grunted, raised a hand and pitched forward. She righted herself and dragged her knee across the carpet. 

“You're doing it!” Tom crowed. “Once more, you’re almost here.” He’d abandoned Toby on the carpet and held out his hands. 

She staggered toward him, her expression a mixture of unease and surprise. She collapsed head first into his lap, her hard little forehead connecting unerringly with his scrotum. His eyes watered. “Ugh,” he said. Tom righted her, and breathed. It wasn’t the first time she’d klonked him in the nuts; she seemed determined to be an only child. 

He grabbed her and rained kisses on her cheeks. “Big girl!”

“Ma!” she agreed.

“Let’s do it again.” He set her down ‘in the position’, then bum scooted a meter away. This time he held up a brightly painted, old fashioned wooden block. She stared at it intently before reaching for it. “Come and get it.”

A look of determination crossed her face. She rocked, lifted one hand and set it down. Lifted the other, then her knees. Tom crowed in victory!

***

“Tom?” B’Elanna called from the front hall.

“In here, come see this!”

Miral was sitting in the centre of a pile of toys, chewing on her Piglet. “Extraordinary,” B’Elanna teased. She twirled in a circle as she took in the state of the room. “Tom, this place is a mess! What have you two been doing?”

“Just watch,” Tom said. He bent and wrenched the wooden block from her hand, then plucked her up and set her down a meter or so away from her mama. He crouched on the floor at B’Elanna’s feet and waggled the block. “Come on, Miri. Come get it.” 

A hand lifted and plunked down forcefully on the carpet. Another hand. Knee. The other knee. She looked maniacal, her face contorted in an open-mouthed grin, her eyes huge and focused. She squealed and launched herself forward, picking up speed as she got closer to her prize. B’Elanna gasped and dropped to the floor elbowing Tom aside, literally, as she flung her arms wide and grinned at her baby girl. 

“Ma!” Miral screached. 

“Come to mommy,” B’Elanna cooed.

Miral did. She scooted past the bright block and head butted her mama in the gut. B’Elanna enfolded her in her arms and squeezed her tightly. “You’re crawling,” she stated, unnecessarily. “What a smart girl. Tom, she’s crawling.” B’Elanna beamed.

As if he hadn’t spent the better part of the morning teaching her to do just that. “Yes, well,” Tom said, “she’s brilliant.”

“Of course she is,” B’Elanna agreed. Just a day ago she’d been wondering if she was physically delayed. 

Tom handed her the block and she clutched it in her chubby fist and brought it to her mouth. He cupped her chubby little bare feet in his hands, and leaned over and brought them to his lips and kissed her teeny little toes. Miral kicked in joy and flung the block at his head. It got him just above the eyebrow, its sharp corner pierced his skin; it hurt like a sonofabitch! 

“Gah!” Tom gasped. He touched it tentatively and scowled at the sight of blood on his fingers. 

“Ohhh,” B’Elanna sucked a breath and brought a hand to his cheek. “That’s going to leave a scar,” she noted. She leaned over and kissed him. 

Miral, squished between them, wiggled to get down. B’Elanna set her on her bum, and she promptly fell forward onto her hands and crawled to her pile of toys. She grabbed Toby, sucked on his ear, then threw him. He bounced off B’Elanna’s thigh. Piglet was next, then a soft-bodied, cartoonish shuttlecraft. B’Elanna reached around her and knocked the rest of the blocks out of her reach. She promptly crawled to them, picked up the C and tossed it. It hit the glass-topped coffee table with a _clack_. 

Tom turned his head to look at his wife. He looked at the plant in the middle of the coffee table, and the stack of PADDS. He glanced around the room and noted all the things that would soon be within easy reach of a curious, mobile baby. Pooh Bear landed in his lap, punctuated by Miral’s joyful, “Ma!”

“We may have created a monster,” he said.

B’Elanna smiled and kissed him again as a stuffed doggie landed on the floor by her foot. 

***


	16. “Listen. No, really listen.”/ impact play - cock warming - olfactophilia /pinned down/Where’s your head?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire fic, including how I’d work in the prompts was CaseyPTAH’s idea. I came up empty. Well, not empty, but my idea was crappy. So, thanks, CaseyPTAH!

Day 16:

“Listen. No, really listen.”/ impact play - cock warming - olfactophilia /pinned down/Where’s your head?

*** 

“Listen. No, really listen to me.” Harry Kim leaned over the mess hall table and caught his friend by the arm. “Tom, I think you need to go to sickbay.” 

“I’m fine, Harry. It’s just a little warm in here.” 

They’d been sitting in the mess having lunch, trying to finish off the report of their latest away mission. Harry had been the one to notice it: a fine sheen of sweat on Tom’s forehead along his hairline, a slight tremor in his hands. His eyes had looked unfocused. His brain certainly was. 

“You don’t look right.”

“Hi, Tom.” 

And then there were the constant interruptions. Jenny Delaney appeared at their table, her lovely mouth curved in what could only be described as a ‘come-hither’ smile. She rolled her shoulders causing her breasts to jiggle. Half the women on the ship had either dropped by their table or waved at them. At Tom, actually. Harry wasn’t jealous, really. And he understood the appeal of his roguish pal, but come on. 

Tom glanced at her, “Hi, Jenny,” then looked back at Harry. “There’s nothing wrong with me, Harry.”

“I’ll say,” Megan Delaney popped up out of nowhere and practically purred. 

Jenny placed a proprietary hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Back off, sis,” she growled.

“No, you back off,” Meg said.

“Huh?” Harry asked. What was happening here?

“Tom is mine, you get Harry. That’s the way it is.” Meg glared at her twin.

“Oh, and who decided that? You?” Jenny’s face had taken on an exaggerated expression of contempt.

Tom finally looked up from his mug of coffee substitute. “Ah, ladies what’s--”

Meg gave her sister a shove and Jenny staggered back a couple of steps. Harry jumped up and stood between them. “Hey, what’s going on?” 

“She thinks because she’s older that she can get whatever she wants!” Jenny bumped Harry as she grabbed at Meg.

“Well I know what you’ll never get!” Megan taunted.

“A little help here,” Harry hinted.

“Lieutenant?” 

Tom’s attention was successfully distracted by Tricia Jenkins’ hand on his arm. “Ensign? Um, what is it?” 

“I…” she smiled dreamily at him, and Tom frowned. 

“Ladies, ladies, what’s going on here? There’s lots of poultry stew to go around. No need to fight over it.” Neelix left his cooking pot and hurried over to their table. “I’m sure this is all some silly misunderstanding.” 

“And I know what you’ll never get again! There’s a reason why he dumped you,” Jenny snarled. She knocked Harry in her attempt to shove her sister. Harry banged into Neelix, who hit Tom in the side of the head with his elbow. He staggered backwards into their table and Tom’s mug of hot coffee landed in his lap.

“Arrrhhh!” Tom leapt to his feet. 

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant, I’ll protect you.” Ensign Lang shouldered Jenkins away from him and threaded her fingers through his hair. “Are you hurt?” She was staring at him intently as she ran her finger tips down his cheek.

Tom lurched away from her. Didn’t she have a girlfriend? 

Anderson and Larson arrived to break up the fracas. They pulled the warring sisters apart. “Everyone just calm down here,” Larson said. 

Lydia Anderson let go of Jenny and glanced at Tom. “Are you alright, Lieutenant?” 

Tom was wiping at his groin with a napkin. “Just a little spilled coffee,” he said. He was thankful his uniform was black, not white. 

Her eyes dropped to his groin and stayed there for a beat too long. Tom’s eyebrow rose. 

“Do you,” she sidled closer to him, “need help with that?” Her smile was feral, and Tom backed up a step. “Maybe someone should look at you,” she stated, wrapping her hand around his wrist. 

Harry grabbed him by the other arm, and they had a little tug-of-war with Tom as the prize. “Yeah,” he said, “I’m taking him to sickbay.”

“You’ll need an escort.”

“No, it’s fine!” Harry kicked a chair in her path, and hauled Tom backwards out the far door. The PADD with their report on it lay abandoned beside the remains of their chicken stew. 

Harry wasn’t sure what was going on, but he had an inkling. In truth, there wasn’t much to do on a starship. There was the holodeck, but if you didn’t have time reserved, that was out. There was only so much exercising you could do in the gym. He’d forgotten his clarinet back home when he’d shipped out to DS9 to meet _Voyager_, so practicing was out. That left reading. He’d downloaded the logs of Captain James T. Kirk, and was up to 2268 and the _Enterprise’s_ mission to Elas. Kirk had become temporarily infatuated with their ambassador to the Federation. He had apparently touched her tears, and a psychotropic pheromone in them had enthralled him. It was a chemical thing. 

Maybe the same sort of thing was happening with Tom? There was definitely something wrong with him, and something wrong with the way the females on the ship were responding to him. 

The ‘lift doors opened and Golwat and Tabor stepped off. They nodded but otherwise ignored them. Harry kept a firm grip on Tom’s arm, ready to fling himself between him and Golwat. Nothing. She walked on by. So, either it wasn’t Tom, and was something in the mess hall, or Bolians were immune. Maybe it only affected human women?

“Sickbay,” Harry ordered. The doors started to close just as an arm shot between them and halted their movement. Jenkins slid inside. She smiled dreamily at Tom. 

“Was there something you needed, Ensign?” Harry asked.

“I think so,” she breathed. She flung herself at Tom, wrapping her arms around his chest, trapping his arms and pressing him against the turbolift wall. 

“Whoa!” Tom shouted. His eyes were round with shock as he glanced over her head at Harry. His fingernails skittered on the upholstery. 

Harry grabbed her shoulders and hauled her off of his pal, jerking her body backwards. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “Computer, emergency stop, next deck!” he shouted. 

The doors opened and Harry spun and shoved her out into the corridor. “Close doors,” he ordered.

“Whoa.” B’Elanna did a little side-step to avoid the flying ensign, then turned to face Kim. “Harry? What the hell?” She slipped between the closing turbolift doors. “What was that?” She looked from one to the other, then looked back at Tom, frowning. “Are you okay, Paris? You look a little flushed.”

“I’m taking him to sickbay,” Harry stated. He looked guarded. He was watching her, peering at her, and she shifted a step closer to Tom. 

“You don’t have anything catching do you? Did you pick up something on your away mission?” 

“Naw,” Tom said. “It’s just been a weird day.” 

She moved another step closer to him and frowned. “Harry’s right, you don’t look well.” She reached for him and drew a finger down his temple. “You’re warm.”

Harry, who had assumed her Klingon half would keep her immune to Tom’s newly acquired charms, had been caught unawares. He’d been standing close to the far wall of the lift with B’Elanna between them, collecting his thoughts, figuring out what he’d say to the Doctor. He straightened immediately, but Tom held out a hand in a ‘halt’ gesture. He was smiling at her. 

“I’ve heard that Klingons get cold easily,” Tom said, his voice silky. His fingers trailed down her arm to her hip. 

“Are you offering to keep me warm?” she asked. 

She flowed against him, her body molding itself to his. She tilted her head, lifted her chin and skimmed her teeth along his jaw. Her nose was tucked under his ear. Her body slid against his as she inhaled. Tom’s fingers on her waist spasmed. 

Harry gulped. Boy, it _was_ warm in here! And his uniform was a smidge tight. Time to lay off the chicken stew. He heard her exhale, watched as she raised up on her toes and pressed her body against Tom’s. 

Tom’s eyes closed and his head fell back against the ‘lift wall. “Maybe--” His voice was high; he cleared his throat. “Maybe I need a little help after all, Harry,” he squawked. 

“I’ll help you,” B’Elanna whispered. Her teeth grazed his throat. “I’ll make you feel better.” 

Harry took B’Elanna’s arm and attempted to pull her away. She snarled and kicked him. “Ow!” he yelped. 

Tom pushed against her hips, but that only resulted in her curling her fingers tighter around his shoulders. She gave a little growl. A sexy little growl. Tom shot Harry a ‘Do something!’ look over her shoulder. 

Harry rounded his eyes and raised his palms in a shrug. “Umm… B’Elanna? Can you help me get Tom to sickbay?” he asked. 

She’d been nibbling her way along his throat and jaw in a mix of little bites and kisses. Tom looked like he was ready to faint. She’d left a smear of bright red lipstick on his skin and from a distance it looked like he had a bloody gash on his throat. 

She pulled back and assessed him. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.” One corner of her mouth lifted in a smile, and she backed up a step, her hand trailing down Tom’s chest. 

“This way,” Harry gestured as the turbolift stopped and the doors opened. She sashayed sideways, one arm linked with Tom’s, her free hand petting his chest. Harry walked ahead of them, striding into sickbay. “Doctor? Doctor! Where are—” 

“Harry?” Kes looked up from a computer terminal just as the Doctor walked out of his office. 

“I’m right here. What is it, Ensign?”

“It’s Tom, he,” Harry gestured toward the corridor, then turned around at the questioning look on the Doctor’s face. “Damnit,” he swore. They were right behind him. 

B’Elanna had him flat on his back on the deck, his arms above his head, her hands clamped around his wrists. She was sitting on his groin and… sort of sliding around. Harry felt his face burn. Her chest was pressed to Tom’s, and her face was buried in the side of his throat. Tom’s eyes were wide with shock, staring at Harry though the strands of her dark hair that had fallen across his face. Help. Me. he mouthed. 

“Doctor, help me get her off him!” Harry called. 

The doctor’s face twisted in a scowl and he stuck a leg outside the sickbay doors. It disappeared. “Oh yeah,” Harry said. 

Luckily, Lieutenant Baxter was in sickbay being treated for a sprained extensor digitorum. He used his other arm to help Harry haul her off of Tom. They managed to wrestle Tom into the infirmary while keeping B’Elanna at bay with Kes’ stool, and Harry ordered an emergency override lock on the door. He figured it wouldn’t keep her out for long since she was the chief engineer, but it might be long enough for the effects of Tom’s… whatever it was to wear off. 

“What’s going on, Mister Kim?” the Doctor demanded as Kes helped Tom onto a biobed.

“This is going to sound crazy, but I think Tom picked up something during our away mission.”

“A virus? Bacterium? Was he bitten by an insect?” He’d taken out a medical tricorder and had begun to scan him.

“Really, I feel fine,” Tom said. Kes encouraged him to lie down and attached a monitor to his forehead. He smiled at her. 

“I’m not sure,” Harry confessed. “Do you know about Elasian female’s tears?” Harry asked.

“Of course I do. I’m programmed to know. The glands near their tear ducts secrete a pheromone with mild psychotropic properties. Males of the species who come into physical contact with the tears can fall under the control of the female, becoming compliant, submissive and easily controlled. Why? Did Mister Paris encounter an Elasian out here in the Delta Quadrant?”

“Noooo,” Harry drawled, “but I think something similar has happened. The women on the ship are sort of falling all over themselves to get to him.” He thought about B’Elanna. “Though I wouldn’t really describe them as submissive.” 

“Hmmm… fascinating. Kes, hand me the—” The Doctor glanced at his nurse, who was smiling dreamily at Tom and running her fingers through his hair. “Kes.” There was no response. “Kes! Where is your head?” the Doctor demanded. 

“Hmmm?” She smiled vacantly at the holodoc then returned her attention to Tom. 

“Oh for— I’ll do it myself.” He walked over to a storage cabinet and removed a hypospray and fitted it with a cylinder. He tapped a few commands into his tricorder and scanned Tom again. 

“Will I live, Doc?” Tom asked.

“Remarkable…” 

“What?!” An alarm on the biobed beeped as Tom’s heart rate increased. Kes _shushed _him. 

“It appears you’re correct, Ensign. Mister Paris is indeed secreting a pheromone that is apparently irresistible to the opposite sex.” He tapped a few more commands and _hmmmed_ some more, then picked up the hypospray and placed it at the side of Tom’s throat. “This should help.”

“When will it start to work, Doc?” Tom gently pushed on Kes’ shoulder to ease her away from him. She pouted, then her expression cleared and she straightened. 

“I… I need to get back to my…” She flapped a hand toward the computer monitor where she’d been studying, then backed away from them.

Tom attempted to sit up but the Doctor pushed him back down onto the biobed and placed the hypospray at his throat again. This one stung and he hissed in pain. He raised a hand and rubbed his neck. “Ow,” he whined. 

“We’re not done yet, Lieutenant.”

Tom frowned. “How many more do I need?” He and Harry shared a look of confusion. 

“The first was to counteract the effects of your fever and to release my nurse from your spell. The second was to counteract your… attractiveness… to Bolians.”

“But, we passed Golwat and she was immune.”

“Oh, well, you should have said so. Shall I attempt to extract it from your bloodstream?”

“No, that’s okay.” Tom eased away from him a smidge. “What’s that for?” He pointed at the hypospray.

“Bajorans.”

“Okay.” A hiss, another stinging sensation. 

The Doc changed out the cylinder and pressed the hypospray to Tom’s neck again. 

“Ow!” Tom whined. That one actually hurt. 

“Vulcans.”

“What, she can’t control herself?”

“Better safe than sorry.” Another _hiss_. “Humans.”

“These aren’t going to permanently repulse anyone, are they?” 

“Of course not, I’m sure your personality will take care of that for you. Let’s see, who did I miss?”

“Ummm…” Tom said. “That should cover it.”

“B’Elanna!” Harry exclaimed.

“Where?” Tom smiled and attempted to sit up again.

“Don’t forget Klingons, Doc,” Harry reminded him.

“I’m sure the human hypo will work on B’Elanna,” Tom tried. 

The Doctor eyed the smear of lipstick on Tom’s jaw. “Hmmmm,” he said. He dialed a setting on the hypospray and injected it. 

“Ow!” Tom glared. That one hurt more than the others.

*** 

Tom rubbed his neck as he and Harry walked down the corridor on deck four. The whole thing was ridiculous. People didn’t just start secreting pheromones that irresistibly attracted the opposite sex. 

“You don’t need to walk me to my quarters, Harry. I think my virtue is safe now.” They passed Susan Nicoletti who simply watched him pass by. “See? I’m completely resistible.” 

They stopped at Tom’s door, and Harry nodded. “I’m just making sure.” He smiled. “I guess I’ll see you at breakfast? We still have to finish that rep—”

Tom was standing in front of his door one moment, then he’d simply disappeared. B’Elanna had him pinned to the wall, one arm across his chest neat his throat, her other hand clasped around his wrist and holding it to the bulkhead. “Uhhhh…” Tom said.

“Not one word. Not one. I’ve already spoken to Baxter, and if I hear anything, I’ll know it came from you.”

“I would never,” Tom began. She narrowed her eyes. Her breath was warm on his chin, and her eyes were flashing fire. She had him pressed to the wall with her bodyweight, her chest pressed to his, their legs entwined. He tried to not-think about the way she’d thrown him to the deck outside of sickbay and climbed on top of him.

“B’Elanna!” Harry exclaimed. “Tom won’t say anything. This whole thing has just been embarrassing for him.”

“Has it?”

“Yes,” Harry continued. “Believe me, he just wants to forget it all. It was an awful experience, right Tom?”

Tom was watching the play of emotions on her face: anger melding into suspicion, turning to wariness. She stilled, then rocked back on her heels, easing her weight off his chest. “It wasn’t all terrible,” he confessed. 

The corner of her mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. She released his wrist and stepped back, patted her hair in place. “Okay then,” she said. 

“Yeah,” Tom agreed. “Okay.”

She nodded to Harry, then looked at him one more time before she walked away, chin up, back straight. Tom glanced at his pal and smiled a little dreamily. “I think maybe she likes me, Harry,” Tom said.

“Likes you? I thought she was going to kill you!”

Tom shook his head and keyed in his door code, then stepped into his quarters. “I guess she just finds me irresistible,” he shrugged.

“Or irritating,” Harry muttered. “Breakfast tomorrow. Our report.” 

Tom nodded as the doors to his quarters closed, and Harry turned on his heel and made his way back to the turbolift. How was it that Tom Paris always came up smelling like… roses? It was a mystery he’d never understand.


	17. “There’s just something about him her them.”/monster fucking - breeding - body swap/“Stay with me.”/ buried.

Day 17:

“There’s just something about him her them.”/monster fucking - breeding - body swap/“Stay with me.”/ buried.

***

“There’s just something about them. Naomi is sweet and loving, and she surprises me almost every day with these ideas that she comes up with. How she’ll link two things together and come up with a new way of looking at them, a new perspective. I’m so grateful that I have her; she’s the reason I’m hopeful every day.”

Tom tried to smile at Sam’s expression of parental love but, truthfully, there was nothing to smile about. They were buried three kilometers beneath the surface of a planetoid, a hunk of rock without a breathable atmosphere. He should be grateful that the _‘flyer_ was still in one piece, more or less, and that he and Tuvok weren’t badly hurt. He’d gladly trade places with Sam, though. 

He was worried, his concern for her nagging at him. With a punctured kidney and internal bleeding, there was nothing Tom could do for her with the limited medkit on the _‘flyer_, and his equally limited medical skills. He’d already administered a mild sedative and a painkiller, but the dermal regenerator didn’t have the power to knit a kidney. He felt useless. He’d swap places with her if he could. At least if his blood pressure tanked and he passed out, he wouldn’t be able to think about being buried under all that rock in a rather spacious, state-of-the-art coffin. His latent claustrophobia was stalking him like an unseen monster from his childhood nightmares, brushing it’s tentacles along the back of his neck, making him anxious. Fuck that. 

Sam had mentioned her regret that she might not live to see Naomi grow up, to guide her to maturity, to hold her grandchildren. Naomi was all Sam had of the husband she’d left behind in the Alpha Quadrant, and if anything happened to Sam, Naomi would be orphaned. It was the risk they took, of course, everyone who joined Starfleet, and the crew of _Voyager_ understood that risk all too well. But despite his chivralistic notions Tom wasn’t in a hurry to contemplate his own death. If only there was something he could do to prevent it. 

Frustration rose in him like a wave and he tensed, then let out a slow breath. They’d tried rerouting the power cupelings in an attempt to polarize the hull so _Voyager’s_ sensors could more easily pick out their signal through the benamite crust of the planetoid, but all they’d succeeded in doing was overloading the magnetic relays. It was frustrating, admitting defeat. Waiting. Realizing that all your training and experience was utterly useless to your survival. 

“You can’t say you’ve never thought about it, Tom,” Sam continued. “A little son or daughter to carry on your family name?”

Tom chuffed. He’d thought about it, sure, but mostly in ways to avoid it. “My sister, Moira has kids. Three boys.” Maybe four now, who knew? She’d seemed to thrive on motherhood the last time he’d heard from her five, no, six years ago. Time was marching forward, he thought. Theirs was running out, though. 

“And you’ve never imagined a son of your own?” Sam asked, “Maybe with your eyes? Or forehead ridges…?” 

He glanced at her and caught her teasing smile. “Maybe once or twice,” he confessed. When he’d been sitting with B’Elanna in the mess, and had seen Sam with Naomi. When they’d shared nights together, their bodies entwined in his bed or hers. When he’d watched her sleep and imagined their future together, stretching out long and loving and happy. After the Hirogen had projected that holographic pregnancy on her in their twisted war games. It was possible that he’d imagined a baby or two, much like Naomi was, chubby and sweet, but with darker hair and eyes, and ridges on her forehead instead of spikes.

By his age, his parents already had Kathleen, and he wasn’t getting any younger, after all. Of course there was a better than even chance that he wasn’t going to get any older, either. 

B’Elanna. There was something he did regret. A few weeks ago he’d been as surprised as everyone else to discover what she’d been up to on the holodeck, how she’d been hurting herself. It had never crossed his mind to wonder how she spent her time when they weren’t together, something that had happened more and more often after the first rush of their relationship had subsided. Once they’d slipped from fervid to comfortable she’d seemed to become busier, and he’d assumed her duties in engineering were drawing her attention. And he’d been just as happy to have time to fool around with Harry or work out new Captain Proton adventures. 

He’d had his head up his ass and he hadn’t noticed that she was suffering survivor’s guilt after learning of the deaths of her Maquis friends back in the Alpha Quadrant. Instead of helping her through it, he hadn’t even acknowledged it! 

And now this. Just as they were tentatively putting the pieces of their relationship back together, he was going to suffocate under fifty kilotonnes of rock. She’d probably not even have a body to grieve over, he realized. His death would be an abstract, a concept. And he worried that she would spiral back into the depression that had almost killed her, deliberate or not. He hadn’t been much use to her alive, but he’d be worse to her dead. 

“No offence, Sam, but I’m not sure that having kids is really the best idea, considering our situation.” She frowned slightly, and Tom immediately regretted his flash of temper. “I just mean, anything can happen to us out here. And if everyone on the ship decided to start having kids we’d get into trouble pretty quickly.” They already rationed replicator use, how much worse would it be with small children draining the energy reserves? Not to mention, the crew would have to be pulled from their duties to actually look after them. Several people had a hand in looking after Naomi: Sam, Neelix, the Doctor gave her lessons. Tom had even given her a class on first aid figuring it wouldn’t hurt her to know how to handle a dermal regenerator especially in light of the—albeit infrequent but still—red alerts, battles with hostile aliens, spatial anomalies… It was simply too risky.

“If you’re asking, Naomi was planned. Well, hoped for. Being separated from her father and the rest of our family was the wild card.” 

What was it about Sam Wildman that made her so forgiving, so understanding? She should have been a ship’s counsellor. 

“And besides,” she continued, “if the rest of you don’t start having children in the next ten years, we might be awfully short handed by the time _Voyager_ reaches home.”

“Oh, I think I’ll manage to pull my feeble carcass into the helm and pilot us into Jupiter Station,” Tom smiled. “We only have fifty years to go.” He glanced over at Tuvok who was busying himself with a PADD. “At least the Vulcan contingent of the crew will still be spry enough to run the ship.”

“That reminds me, Naomi has been talking about learning to pilot _Voyager_,” Sam said. “Do you think you can give her some... lessons?” 

She winced and pulled her body straighter, then sagged again. Tom immediately knelt at her side and scanned her. Her blood pressure was dropping, her pulse rapid, and she was still bleeding internally. 

“Maybe we should lay off the chatter and you should get some rest,” he suggested softly. 

“But will you?” Her face was creased in pain, and Tom realized that this was her way of assuring her influence on Naomi’s future. Her way of cheating what she was sure was her own death. 

“Of course,” he assured her. “But I think I might start off with a holoprogramme of a shuttle rather than letting her take over for me on the bridge.” 

She smiled and huffed a laugh. “She’ll be so excited.” 

“Well, I think that you should calm down a little.” 

She nodded, then her eyes rolled backward and her head dipped. “Sam!” Tom raised his voice and flipped open his tricorder again. “Stay with me.” It was more a plea than an order. He couldn’t let her die, couldn’t let her death be his fault. 

“May I assist you?” Tuvok was at his elbow immediately. 

“Give me ten miligrams of inaprovaline,” Tom ordered. Tuvok, ever efficient, handed him the loaded hypo. 

He delivered the drug through the pulse point in her throat, and was relieved to see her vital signs normalize. “Hey,” he said. “Don’t conk out on me.” He hoped his fear wasn’t obvious in his expression. 

Sam smiled. “Tom if you really ha—”

_“Warning. Life support failing.”_ the computer’s monotone voice seemed incongruous with everything its message implied. 

Tom started to stand, not sure what he could do to leverage more power to life support. Cut the lights? Turn off the heat? Sam grabbed for his arm.

“Tom,” she tried again, “if you really have thought about starting a family with B’Elanna, maybe you should tell her?”

Was she talking face-to-face, or was she referring to a last message? It hit him then that he might never see B’Elanna again; that his luck may have finally run out. He stared at Sam for a moment, feeling then that she was quite possibly the bravest person he’d ever known: to grab at life, at the future, the way she’d done. 

He nodded, and stood and walked to the Ops station. He sat and stared at the screen for a moment before he tapped the code to access his personal message file. Did it really matter if he was brave facing death, or if he went down kicking and screaming and cursing the Fates? The Day of Honour had been a few months ago—their anniversary, sort of—and B’Elanna had declined to run the programme with him. With him. She’d employed the painsticks, though. He’d found that out when he’d used his medical override to access her programme history. 

He puffed a sigh.

“Computer, begin recording. Hi.” So much to say, too much to tackle in the few minutes allotted to him. “I guess I’m going to miss our date Friday night. Sorry. I’m sorry for a lot of things, but hey, B’Elanna, look on the bright side: no more day-old pizza laying around…”


	18. “Secrets? I love secrets.”/cock-worship / muffled scream / evil puppet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only worked in one kink and instead of giving it a real ending I just sort of stopped. They can’t all be winners!

“Secrets? I love secrets.”/cock-worship / muffled scream / evil puppet

***

“Secrets? I love secrets! And I can keep them. Just last week I surprised Ensign Bronowski with his favourite meal for his birthday. He had no idea.”

Tom’s head snapped up and his eyes flashed with sudden fear. “Ummm,” he replied. 

Harry grinned. “What, you can’t possibly have already heard about Tom and Beh--” 

Tom shot a ‘shut it!’ look at Harry and kicked out at him under the table. His booted foot made contact with Harry’s ankle, and Harry let out a muffled _eeerrmmph_. 

“Toooommmm….” Neelix cajoled, “what have you been up to?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. We have no secrets, right Harry? It’s not like anyone can keep a secret on this ship, anyway.” Tom tried his best to look perplexed at the very idea. “I’m an open book.” He smiled a little too wide. Harry fidgeted in his chair; his face was creased in pain, and Tom sent him another warning glare. 

Neelix bounced on his toes, then leaned down a smidge to whisper conspiratorially, “I have a little secret of my own.” His eyebrows waggled.

“Ahhhhh… really?” Harry’s smile looked frozen. 

Neelix nodded. “Let’s just say that I’m planning a special you-know-what for you-know-what.”

Tom frowned. He really didn’t. But he did know that if Neelix heard even a whisper of his and B’Elanna’s nascent relationship, it would be over. Neelix, in his enthusiasm for happiness, would spread it all around the ship, and B’Elanna, who valued her privacy, would be mortified. He’d left her quarters a little over an hour ago, before alpha shift was up and moving around. Time enough to shower and shave. His body was still thrumming, his nerve endings still sparking from a night spent in her bed. Their first night of many, he hoped. They might have got a few hours of sleep, maybe, and his brain was too fuzzy to decipher Neelix’ cryptic announcement. 

“Yes, indeed,” Neelix repeated. “A little secret of my own.” 

Tom recognized this as a perfect opportunity to deflect attention from him and whatever Neelix might think he was doing in his off hours because he was fairly certain that if Neelix found out, he wouldn’t be doing it anymore. Not that B’Elanna would injure him, of course, it appeared she had a vested interest in keeping him hale and hearty and in one piece. Actually, she’d appeared to have a vested interest in one piece of him in particular… 

He couldn’t help the silly smile that stretched across his face. It baffled him that people still found B’Elanna intimidating. Sure, she had a temper, but under that hard-crust exterior she was vulnerable: soft and squishy. And if she didn’t want to spread the change in their relationship all over the ship, that was fine with him. He wasn’t going to ponder the mystery any deeper because he knew why: she was private, and she kept her personal business to herself. 

He’d spent literally years carefully cultivating her friendship, then more, and it hadn’t been easy but he was definitely reaping the rewards. She loved him, and if he didn’t know every little thing about her, if he didn’t know her favourite colour or her favourite birthday meal, that was okay. It occurred to him that he didn’t actually know the date of her birthday, and he made a mental note to find out. He could always ask Harry--or Neelix-- he supposed. It had been like pulling hen’s teeth to find out anything about her past or her family in the last three years, and most of what he knew he’d had to pry from Harry. Who was, Tom realized, lousy at keeping secrets. Hence the glaring. And the kicking.

“Don’t you want to know what it is?” Neelix asked. 

Tom pulled his brain out of thoughts of B’Elanna and focused on the affable cook and morale officer.

“We wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise,” Harry waffled. 

“Well, yes, I suppose so.” His usually eboliant features sagged in disappointment.

“But… if you needed our opinion on whatever it is you’re planning, I’m sure we’d love to help, right Tom?” Harry attempted to kick him back, but missed. 

“Right. Of course.” 

Neelix positively beamed and sat with them, shoving aside their trays. Tom had tossed his napkin on his in an attempt to hide how little he’d actually eaten. 

“Well,” Neelix began, “Ensign Ashmore was in here the other day with Crewman Larson, and they were talking about gravy.”

“Gravy?” Tom’s face twisted in confusion.

“Yes. It’s a thick sauce made of meat dripp—”

“Ah, yeah, I know what gravy is Neelix,” he smiled, wondering if he’d missed a pot of gravy with dinner and wondering if he should feel happy about that or cheated.

“You see, they were discussing an old Earth holiday: the Day of Giving Thanks.” 

“Thanks...giving,” Harry stated. 

“Yes.” Neelix bobbed his head in the affirmative. “It involves something called ‘stuffing’ and a turkey. I looked it up in the database, and it was very helpful.”

“I’m sure it was,” Harry agreed.

“But, Neelix,” Tom said, “Thanksgiving is in November.” 

“Yes, well, that may be on Earth, but I’m thankful everyday for _Voyager_ and her crew, including you two. My friends.”

Tom and Harry traded a smile. “We’re pretty grateful for you too, Neelix.” Tom nodded. “So, when’s the big meal?” 

“Well, I need to get permission from Captain Janeway to replicate the fowl, a nice big one, but I have some vegetables that I’m planning to use. I don’t have turn-up, but I suppose leola root will do in a pinch.” He was frowning in concentration, likely mentally going through his larder. 

“What else were you planning on having?”

“Oh, all the usual: that gravy that Mister Ashmore was talking about, and mashed potatoes. And I think the seed pods from one of Kes’ flowering plants will make a nice substitution for green beans.”

“You’re hitting all the highlights, Neelix,” Tom said. “You have been reading up on this.”

“Well, if you’re going to give the crew a little taste of home, you need to get it right!” 

Tom glanced at his eggs Benedict ala Neelix and fought a grimace. B’Elanna appeared at his elbow. 

“You have your heads together.” She looked from one to the other and her eyes narrowed. “What are you guys talking about?”

Tom felt a silly smile slide onto his face and fought to keep his features even. It wasn’t easy; just looking at her made his body warm, made his heart rate kick up. He wasn’t certain, but he thought maybe he might be glowing. 

“Being thankful,” Tom said. Something changed in her expression, and she was suddenly wary, suspicious. He straightened. “Neelix is planning a Thanksgiving feast.”

“Oh.” 

Her obvious relief took him slightly aback; would it really be so awful if people found out they were… together? Were they together? They’d been together last night—very close together. But that didn’t mean that they were going to be together again. 

She was staring at him, her eyebrows drawn together in a little frown. Tom smiled. She settled into the chair opposite Neelix, and Tom felt her knee press against his. Then he felt her hand on his thigh. Definitely together again. 

“Did you celebrate Thanksgiving when you were a child, B’Elanna?” Neelix asked. 

Tom feared he was mining her for a Klingon version of pumpkin pie. 

“No.” She shook her head. “But we had it at the Academy. They made a kind of a big deal out of it, actually.”

“As I intend to, too.” Neelix grinned. “But keep it quiet for now.” He flicked a glance over his shoulder, and leaned toward her conspiratorially. “It’s a secret. I want it to be a surprise.” He sat straight again and smiled, joy radiating from him. “I see you don’t have your breakfast, B’Elanna.” 

“Actually, I was thinking I’d just have coffee,” she tried. 

He popped up out of his chair. “Nonsense. You need a good meal to start the day. Something in your belly to ward off those cravings.” 

Tom looked at her, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Neelix headed to the kitchen humming to himself, but Tom barely noticed that he was gone. He was watching B’Elanna, appreciating her profile, her feathered forehead ridges, cute nose, her strong jaw and that amazing, luscious mouth. She’d angled her head away from him, and seemed to find the scenery out the viewport fascinating. 

“Oh knock it off, you two,” Harry griped.

“What?” B’Elanna turned her attention to Harry, her eyes round and innocent. 

“Stop pretending he’s not right there.” Harry sighed. “Even if Tom hadn’t told me, I’d be able to figure it out.”

Her head snapped toward Tom and she glared. 

“He stopped by my quarters last night an I wasn’t there. And he said he tried to comm me and I didn’t answer.” He looked sheepish. “Then he tried to comm you and you didn’t answer.”

Colour flooded her cheeks. “We were probably in the…”

“Yeah,” Tom nodded. He’d never be able to have another sonic shower without thinking of her.

“Harry, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll cut out your—”

“Here you go, Jimbalian Seven-World omlette.” He slid a plate under B’Elanna’s nose. 

She looked at it for a moment before raising her eyes to Neelix. “You shouldn’t have.” 

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” He waved away her thanks. 

He had some sort of soft toy in his hand, and brightly coloured bits of cloth waggled as he brushed aside B’Elanna’s thanks. 

“What’s that?” Harry asked. 

“Oh, this?” Neelix flapped it a bit before he held it up for them to inspect. “This is for the alter.”

“Alter?” Tom asked, his forehead creasing in a question.

“Yes. On the main table where I’ll lay out the food.” Neelix pointed toward the long tables placed under the viewports at the other end of the room. “Traditionally, it’s decorated with leaves and food offerings to the revered poultry.”

“The what?” B’Elanna asked.

“I have some of those hard, orange melons that will have to do for the pumps and their families, and I don’t have corn on the plant stalk, but I thought I could replicate a dish of it.”

“Pumps…?” B’Elanna glanced at Tom and he shrugged.

“But, what’s that?” Harry asked, pointing at the doll in Neelix’ hands.

“Why, it’s an idol. I was going to make one that was larger, so it would look good on the long table, but I needed to save the rations for its worshipers. And besides, I thought Naomi might like it, to play with. See? It’s a puppet!” He smiled widely as he put his hand up inside the doll.

Tom was lost. “Neelix, I don’t think—”

“Look.” Neelix popped back into the galley and returned almost immediately with a handful of small humanoid figures dressed in white and black. Mostly black. “These are a bit severe looking for Naomi, but I think she’ll like the poultry god.” 

“What are they?” B’Elanna asked, completely flummoxed.

“Why, they’re the pilgrims, of course. Early settlers to the North American continent of Earth. Very religious. And they lived quite a strict lifestyle. Why, I read that they prayed to their god before every meal, to thank him for his generosity.”

“Um, Neelix, I don’t think they were praying to the turkey.”

“Well, of course they were! Who else was providing the meat if not the turkey?”

“Did your ancestors really worship a large bird?” B’Elanna’s face had morphed into a confused frown, and Tom smothered a grin behind his hand. 

“I’ll explain it later,” he said.

“Oh!” Neelix hopped slightly with excitement. “There’s the captain. I must ask her what she thinks of my plan. See you at lunch.” He took off across the room, the wings on his turkey puppet flapping. 

B’Elanna still looked confused.

“Are you going to tell him?” Harry asked.

“I was kind of hoping that the captain will,” Tom confessed.

“Ancient Klingons killed their gods, but they didn’t eat them afterward,” B’Elanna said.

Tom laughed. “I’m actually looking forward to the pumpkin pie,” he said.

“Don’t say that,” Harry warned. “He’ll probably use leola root.”

***


	19. “Yes, I admit it, you were right.”/ degradation - pegging - biting / asphyxiation/ “Yup, it’s a clown.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a day late because life got in the way, and perhaps a pound short in the ending. Oh well.

Day 19:

“Yes, I admit it, you were right.”/ degradation - pegging - biting / asphyxiation/ “Yup, it’s a clown.”

***

“Yes, I admit it, you were right.” B’Elanna was frowning into the guts of the starboard impulse engine. 

“I told you there was a rattle,” Tom said, rather smugly. “I know my girl.”

“Your girl?” B’Elanna raised her head from the innards of the _’Flyer’s_ propulsion system and looked at him, eyebrow raised. 

Tom slid a hand around her waist and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “You’re my best girl, but don’t tell her. She gets jealous.” 

B’Elanna snorted and shoved him away. 

Harry cocked his head and squinted but it didn’t help him hear better, or see better for that matter. “I still don’t hear anything.”

“It’s more of a whine,” Tom said. 

“That damn backup injector coil,” B’Elanna groused, “I told Culhane that it needed to be replaced.” 

“He did,” Tom answered. “I reviewed the maintenance log myself before we took her out.” 

“It’s the nebula.” Neelix nodded out the front viewport of the _Delta Flyer_. “The radiation. You know how it can damage ships’ systems.”

“We’re not close enough, Neelix,” Harry assured him. “It’s probably just normal degradation of the ship’s parts over time. They get old, they wear out. If it was from inventory and not newly replicated…” He shrugged.

Neelix didn’t look like he believed him. He was still staring out the viewport at the swirling blues and oranges and pinks of gas and space dust. He shivered. “Terrifying, isn’t it?”

B’Elanna glanced up from the _’Flyer’s_ drive system. “I think it’s sort of pretty,” she said. “It reminds me of the flower gardens back at the Academy.” 

“It reminds me of a clown,” Tom stated.

“What?” 

“I’m serious. Look,” he waved his hand in an arc, “there’s his bushy orange wig, the two white dwarfs there are his eyes, and that red giant is his nose.” He pointed.

Harry cocked his head again. “Yup. it’s a clown,” he agreed. 

“To me, it looks like a monster,” Neelix shuddered. “Look at its fangs.”

“Well, some people find clowns scary,” Harry said. He glanced at B’Elanna and she snorted a laugh.

“There’s a saying on Talax,” Neelix said. “‘Nebulas bring bad luck’.” 

“That’s a pretty unequivocal saying, Neelix,” Tom said. 

“Yes, well, you don’t want any misunderstandings when it comes to bad luck.”

“Well, I can’t repair it.” B’Elanna sat back on her heels and sighed her frustration. 

“I guess we’re dead in the water,” Tom said.

“So we just have to sit here and wait to be rescued?” Neelix looked nervous at the suggestion.  
“But what if more systems go down? What if we lose life support? We could asphyxiate to death!”

“Neelix, we’re not going to lose life support. It’s okay.” Harry shot Tom a glare. “Voyager is only a few hours away at maximum warp, and we have at least twenty-four hours of oxygen in the EV suits. If anything goes wrong, we’ll put them on. But nothing will go wrong.”

At the mention of EV suits, Tom glanced over at B’Elanna to find her looking at him. He sent her a slow, little smirk, and she rolled her eyes. “You could put on a suit and try walking home,” he suggested, turning his attention back to Neelix. “Were not so bad off, the replicators are still working.” 

“That’s a good idea.” B’Elanna stood and walked over to the ops station and sat. “I’m hungry. Neelix, how about some lunch?” 

“Don’t you want to choose for yourself?” he motioned to the back where the replicator was stored.

B’Elanna shrugged. “I’m used to you surprising me.” 

“Alright.” Neelix stood and smacked his thighs with his fisted hands. “I know just the thing. I took the liberty of programming in a few surprises for our trip.” 

“Can’t wait,” B’Elanna smiled. 

Neelix walked toward the aft room of the shuttle with a look of anticipation shining in his eyes.

“See how easy it is to not make him think he’s about to die?” B’Elanna asked Tom. 

He smiled sheepishly at her. “It’s just an expression.” He sent the distress call and spun his pilot’s seat so it was facing outward. 

Neelix was back within a minute bearing two loaded trays. “A hot poultry sandwich with my special gravy.”

Steam, along with a sharp acidic scent rose from a sandwich made of a dark, coarse bread. A reddish brown gravy with chunks of something that may have been onion, may have been pleeka rind, covered plate. He handed one each to Tom and B’Elanna. Tom sent her a look that said, see what you did?!

B’Elanna cut off a small piece with her fork and took a cautious bite, then shrugged. “Tastes like chicken. Delicious, Neelix,” she said.

Tom tried his and fought the urge to gag. He wondered if B’Elanna’s tastebuds were broken, or if maybe Klingons preferred their meat to taste sour. He looked up at her and caught the puckered twist of her lips and snickered. ‘Be nice’ she mouthed.

“I’ll be right back with ours, Harry.” Neelix disappeared into the back again, and returned momentarily with two more steaming trays. 

Harry took a large bite and chewed methodically, swallowing before saying, “This is great, Neelix.” 

Neelix beamed with pleasure. He sat with his back to the viewport. “So, B’Elanna, tell me about that Academy garden.” 

“Oh,” she sat a little straighter. “Well, I don’t really remember much. There was an old groundskeeper who had been there since the dawn of time according to legend. There were flowers and trees. And some walkways. I liked to sit there sometimes, for the quiet.” She shrugged. “Actually, I don’t really remember much, sorry.” 

“His name was Boothby,” Tom said, “and he yelled at me once for kicking a soccer ball into his rhododendrons.” B’Elanna grinned.

“Hey, I never asked, did you two know each other in the Academy?” Harry asked.

Tom shifted uncomfortably. “No.”

B’Elanna shook her head, but one eyebrow rose in query. “What?” she asked.

Tom waved a hand, forget it.

“No. What?” she insisted. 

“I just… I heard about you, that’s all. When you entered.”

“Oh.”

“I did too,” Harry volunteered. “You were the only Klingon in the Academy then, and everyone knew about Lieutenant Worf on the Enterprise, so…” 

“Great.” B’Elanna sighed. “No, I don’t know him and he’s not in my ‘house’ if that’s what you want to know.” She was scowling, obviously pissed off.

“I know that,” Harry defended. 

“I was gone before you even started,” she griped.

“You asked,” he said.

“I overheard my dad talking to my mom about you, while I was home on break.” 

He’d been lamenting that their first Klingon recruit since Worf wasn’t working out. That she was volatile, temperamental, and was always arguing with her professors. That she behaved like she either already knew everything they were attempting to teach her, or that she felt their insights were useless. He was afraid that she wouldn’t cut it. He wasn’t concerned for her future, or even her well being, he was worried about how her failure would reflect on the Academy. He didn’t want to ‘start anything’ with the Klingons. 

“Perfect,” she said. 

“Why did you leave the Academy, B’Elanna? It sounds wonderful to me. All the subjects you could learn, the best teachers in the Federation. All the worlds you could explore as a crewmember on a starship.” 

Neelix was smiling at her and she sighed. “It does sound wonderful when you say it like that, Neelix. But the reality…” 

“What?”

She noticed that Tom was watching her intently, though he hadn’t said anything. “Let’s just say that I never was one for following rules that exist just because someone thinks they need a rule.” She shook her head. “I just didn’t fit in.”

He cocked his head. “But you’ve managed to fit in on _Voyager_ so well.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t have much of a choice. And as chief engineer, I get to make the rules.” She glanced at Tom and saw that he was smiling at her.

“But you still have to follow Captain Janeway’s orders. _Voyager_ is a Starfleet ship, with Starfleet regulations. I know it was difficult for me to remember everything when Kes and I first came aboard.” He thought a moment, and nodded, agreeing with whatever had just popped into his head. “I suppose that’s why you joined the Maquis: no rules.”

She snorted. “That’s where you’re wrong! Chakotay had more rules and regulations than Janeway does.”

“Really? But I thought the Maquis were a ship of rebels. No rules, free to do as they pleased…” 

She scoffed. “When we were in the Maquis, Chakotay had a bigger stick up his bu… Let’s just say that within the confines of a ‘fleet ship, he’s actually relaxed.”

Tom snorted, and Neelix turned toward him, his face brightening. “I keep forgetting you were also a Maquis, Tom!”

“Depends on who you ask, I guess,” he muttered.

“So, did you two know each other? Did you meet? You were both on Chakotay’s ship.” Harry had leaned forward and shrugged at Tom’s warning glare. “What? I’ve always been curious, I just never asked.” 

“Yes.” Tom’s reply was concise. 

“I thought he was a jerk.” B’Elanna looked a challenge at him.

Tom grinned. “ Actually, the word she used was, ‘asshole’.” 

“I wasn’t wrong.”

“I didn’t say you were.” The corners of his eyes creased with suppressed laughter. 

“You guys knew each other all this time and you didn’t tell me?”

“Why would we tell you?”

“To… I dunno. Because.” 

“We don’t tell you everything, Harry.” B’Elanna’s voice was rich with innuendo. 

“Thank god.”

Neelix stood and gathered the trays and took them to the back. Harry followed him, and Tom took the opportunity to walk over to her and kneel in front of her. He slid his palms down her arms as he leaned in for a kiss. 

“I did see you once, you know. At the Academy.”

“You did?” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “When?” 

“I was in the Rotunda with some friends. I happened to be looking out the wall of windows, you know the ones?”

“That look out over Boothby’s garden.” She nodded.

“Yeah. It was a miserable day: cold rain and wind, and I was, well,” he looked down, “I was laughing at the poor plebes who were getting soaked, running to class.”

“Huh.” She looked less than pleased at that.

“Hey, asshole, remember?”

She grinned in acknowledgement. “So you saw me out the window? How do know it was me?” 

“You were on the walkway right on the other side of the glass. As close as we are now. The wind blew your umbrella up and I saw your face. You looked pissed and I thought for sure you were going to throw it away.”

She gasped. “I remember that day! I was late for my Elementary Properties class with Professor Chapman. It was the most exasperating day, everything had gone wrong, and I thought about cutting the class but… You know, I was so fed up that I did want to throw away that damned umbrella. But then I thought of how easy it would be to fix.” She shrugged a shoulder. “And you’ve remembered that all these years?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. He studied her face for a moment. “Your hair was in your face, and then you pulled it out of your eyes,” he reached out and traced her temple and cheek with a finger, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “and I thought…” 

“What?” She was leaning forward now, engrossed in his story. 

“I thought you were gorgeous. All the things I’d heard about the new half-Klingon cadet but no one said you were beautiful.” 

She visibly softened and leaned closer to give him a soft, sweet kiss. “Why didn’t you ever mention this to me before?”

Tom shrugged. “Sure, I’m going to tell Terrible Torres, the Terror of the Badlands that I saw her looking like a drowned cat at the place where she felt the most out of place in her life, and I thought she was pretty. I’m sure that would have gone over well.”

“I might have thought you were less of a jerk.”

“You’d definitely would have thought I had an ulterior motive.” 

“And do you?

“Oh, yeah. As soon as we get back to _Voyager_ and file a mission report and an incident report and I get my overdue helm report into the Chief, I’ll get right on that seduction stuff.” 

“You know,” she said softly, “I have some sway with the chief. She might just accept that helm report tomorrow afternoon.”

“Mmmmm, maybe,” he agreed with another kiss. “But the anally-obstructed Commander Chakotay won’t.” 

She snorted a laugh. “If you ever say a word, I’ll deny it,” she warned. 

“I would certainly hope you would,” he agreed. 

“Neelix, avert your eyes,” Harry said, coming back into the cockpit. He plunked down at the engineering console. “I’m going to run some scans of the nebula, if that’s alright with you two.” 

“Let us know if you find anything interesting,” Tom said.

“Like that dilithium we’re after,” B’Elanna added. She turned back to the ops console and keyed in a series of commands on the display.

Tom leaned over her again and spoke quietly. “You looked at me, you know.”

She stilled. “I did? When?”

“That day at the Academy. You leaned against the glass while you were fighting with your umbrella, and you looked up and we were staring right at each other.” 

She frowned, trying to remember. “We were?” 

“Yeah. I wanted the glass to disappear. I wanted to touch you. Then you looked away and took off, and you were gone.” 

“Well, there’s nothing between us now.” She smiled, then turned her attention back to her display. 

“Yeah,” Tom agreed. 

He headed back to the pilot’s seat and checked to make sure the distress call he’d activated was sending every ten minutes. He thought about the long road he and B’Elanna had taken to get where they are now, and the invisible barriers that had been in their way. He glanced over his shoulder at her, head bent, eyes focused on the display in front of her, then glanced out the viewport at the swirling colours of the nebula. He hoped, instead of something monstrous, it was a portent of good fortune. He stared at the clown mirage and thought, if that swirl of blue gas would move a little to the right, he’d be smiling on them.


	20. “You could talk about it, you know.”/ edging - sadism/masochism - distant & distracted sex/ trembling / Robot Uprising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contrary to that little inner voice whispering to you, I do know what the kink prompts mean. And if I don’t, I look them up. And I am striving to include as many as I can in each fic, doing justice to few. Sorry. I’ll admit that it’s getting more and more difficult to turn them 90* and make them funny. So it goes. 
> 
> With the LeeDrawsStuff inktober prompt, what else could I possibly write about?

Day 20:

“You could talk about it, you know.”/ edging - sadism/masochism - distant & distracted sex/ trembling / Robot Uprising

***

“You could talk about it, you know. I’ll listen.”

Tom stilled and froze over the computer console. “Talk about what, Harry?” He turned his face away and studiously stared at the lines of code displayed on the screen.

“You. And B’Elanna.” 

“What about us? We’re fine.” He tapped a sequence into the display.

Harry stared at his friend for a long moment. Tom wasn’t exactly the most open person on the ship and, sometimes, getting him to talk about things that really mattered was difficult. Tom had a saying that he pulled out for use in specific situations: like pulling hen’s teeth, an amalgamation of ‘rare as hen’s teeth’, and ‘like pulling teeth’. Harry had always figured it was his way of saying something was next to impossible. 

He had the urge to employ that expression right now, with ‘getting you to say anything that really matters is as’ tacked on the front. And maybe with a few choice curse words added on the end, for colour. 

“B’Elanna hasn’t seemed fine lately,” he said. “And I’ve noticed that you seem to have a lot of spare time for doing stuff like this.” He gestured to the computer where Tom was inputting data. They were in the hololab, working on a new programme, one of Tom’s ideas. _Captain Proton, Spaceman First Class, Protector of Earth, Scourge of Intergalactic Evil_. Tom would play Proton, of course, and he would be Buster Kincaid, his trusty sidekick. It was fair; Tom had done all of the research and story writing, and was doing the bulk of the programming. Harry had mostly offered critique. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

Tom picked up a PADD and made an elaborate show of locating a file and uploading it to the computer. Harry sighed. He knew that neither Tom nor B’Elanna was eager to show their true feelings, Tom hiding his behind a facade of easygoing banter, and B’Elanna simply refusing to engage in ‘mushy stuff’. And aside from what was possibly an alien-induced week of PDAs back when they’d first started dating, he couldn’t remember them ever openly flaunting their relationship. But this was going a bit too far. 

“You never did say what you did for your anniversary.” He was pushing, he knew that. But there was obviously something wrong. Something out of whack with them. 

He and Libby had been dating for three years before _Voyager_ had been yanked into the Delta Quadrant. They’d been set up by friends who thought they’d like each other, he a serious-minded cadet on the officer’s path, she a student at the Aldebaran Music Academy majoring in cello and strings. 

She’d been in San Francisco for the Katarian Music Festival and Harry had accidentally sat in her seat at a concert. He’d been attracted to her immediately but, lacking Tom’s finesse with women, had simply apologized and hurried away before she could come to the conclusion that he was even more of a bumbling weirdo than he actually was. A few days later, they were set up on that blind date, and he’d burned with embarrassment when she’d recognized him. But the date had gone well. She’d been funny and interesting, and they’d talked about their love of music. He’d found out that she was attending the Barcelona campus of the Aldebaran Academy, and at the end of the evening, she’d given him her contact information in Spain. 

It took him three weeks to call her. They’d spent many long hours talking via comlink, one or the other of them up until the morning sun shone through the window. They’d squeezed in as many visits as they could, given their schedules, and Harry attended as many of her recitals as possible. It had been over four years since he’d last seen her, but he still missed her keenly, and on every anniversary of that damned music festival he thought about her.

He’d figured that Tom would have planned something sweepingly romantic and private for his and B’Elanna’s first anniversary, involving the holodeck, of course. Riza, maybe. Or some tropical island programme, considering B’Elanna’s love of lying in the sun on a warm beach. Maybe even something public, considering the odds on their relationship lasting past two months. But he’d heard nothing at all from him. And B’Elanna had been cool and distant, no sense of anticipation, no bubbling excitement. Something had gone wrong, Harry was sure, he just didn’t know what it was.

It was possible that, as the shine of a newly explored relationship had worn off, their interest in each other had cooled. It was possible that the same would have happened to him and Libby, if she’d been a cadet at the Academy and they’d lived on top of each other, instead of living a continent away on the other side of the ocean. But he doubted it. And he never would have believed, a year ago, that Tom and B’Elanna would grow tired of each other, though their romance had always been more volatile than his and Libby’s easygoing relationship. 

“What do you think about a robot uprising? We can have Doctor Chaotica plant a worm in the tele-net so all of Earth’s androids turn evil.” Tom flicked a quick glance at Harry and flashed a smile.

“I think that Doctor Chaotica would be avoiding the question,” Harry answered. 

Tom sighed. “It’s fine, Harry,” he said. “We’re great.” 

“You don’t seem great to me,” Harry pushed. He must be a sadist, he reflected, because he wasn’t giving in to Tom’s attempts to deflect his concerns. He was certain now that they were having problems, and that Tom was upset about it, but he didn’t feel like letting him off the hook. He wanted Tom to talk to him. “I haven’t seen you and B'Elanna have a meal together in the mess hall in—”

“She’s busy, Harry. You know, she has a ship to fix.” Tom’s frustration was beginning to show.

Harry knew full well that _Voyager_ was operating at peak efficiency, and had been for weeks. They’d entered ‘the void’ three weeks ago, an area of space with no star systems, and a heavy concentration of theta radiation that prevented light from neighbouring systems entering it. They were alone in the dark. Once they’d run out of things to repair and clean, they’d had nothing to do and a hell of a lot of time to fill. B’Elanna had filled hers by running checks and diagnostics, and Tom had filled his by writing Captain Proton and playing in the holodeck. 

And never the two did meet. 

Harry recognized that he was walking the edge of a very dangerous line. “I just thought that—”

“For god’s sake, Harry, would you let it go?” Tom snapped. 

Harry shut his mouth, and picked up the PADD and reviewed Tom’s additions to the programme.

***

Tom was pissed off. He’d invited Harry to help him with the details of the programme thinking he was doing him a favour, giving him something to think about other than the dark outside the viewports. He hadn’t expected the third degree. Harry must have gone to the same School of Sticking in the Knife as his father: keep poking until the subject in question was fucking done! 

His hands were trembling slightly as he keyed in the code, from anger or a more delicate emotion, he wasn’t sure. The truth was, things were not fine between him and B’Elanna, and they hadn’t been for a while. For longer than they’d been in this void. For longer than he wanted to admit. He couldn’t pinpoint when they’d started to drift apart, but he’d only noticed it recently, when he found himself with time on his hands and no girlfriend to spend it with. 

He was initially confused when she’d started to stand him up or deflect his attempts to get together. Then he’d become frustrated, and finally defensive and angry. He had planned an amazingly romantic date for their first—perhaps last?—anniversary, on the holodeck, something he’d programmed himself. He’d added a beach house to his Lake Como programme, complete with a romantic outdoor dining area and a ration-heavy three course meal including wine and a sumptuous dessert. He’d also added a nature trail that would lead them through a grassy field of flowers to a sandy beach just as the sun set on the lake.

She’d put him off. Then she’d invented some emergency that only she could handle. He’d sat in the holodeck himself for the full three hours, eating nothing, just waiting in case she showed up. Though, if he were honest with himself, he’d admit that he wasn’t sitting there hoping she’d show, he was there to confirm that she hadn’t tried. So he could have the ammunition for their next fight. For the next time she accused him of not respecting her commitments to the ship and her department.

She’d woken him much later, technically the day after their anniversary because he’d stayed up until midnight ship’s time for the same reason he wasted his evening alone in the holodeck. He’d heard the doors of his quarters open, heard her move toward his sleeping area, heard the rustle of her clothing as she undressed and climbed into his bed. She’d kissed him, hard and long, and he’d felt the hard edge of her teeth on his mouth, felt her insistence that he’d decided to explain as passion. Sometimes their lovemaking was slow and sweet and she allowed him to worship her body with his hands and his mouth. Sometimes, maybe the best times, they came together hard and fast, desire and passion moving them relentlessly to a quick conclusion. But the emotion was always there: the way they felt about each other, they way they could make each other feel. 

That night, she’d been relentless, pinning his arms as he reached for her breasts. She’d slid down his body, sucked his cock into her mouth and got him right to the edge of his orgasm within minutes, then she’d stopped. She’d climbed onto him, not allowing him to touch her, though he’d tried. She’d strained and moaned and trembled, and hung on while he’d fucked her as ordered and, to be honest, she’d put on a good show.

She hadn’t come. She’d faked it. As if, after a fucking year, he coldn’t tell the difference! As if the whole thing were just, ha, lip service, because he’d wanted to acknowledge their anniversary and she… hadn’t. 

He’d come, of course. There was no way he couldn’t, primed as he’d been. But he hadn’t truly enjoyed it. It had been more like an automatic response to stimuli than a loving sharing of desire and emotion. Happy fucking Anniversary to me, he’d thought. He’d wanted to push her off of him, to get up and walk out, but since she’d come to him, he had nowhere to go. And then she’d gotten up as quietly as she’d come to him and gathered her clothing and dressed. He’d been pissed off enough to let her do it, just dress and leave without saying a word. He’d been waiting for her to speak, to say something to him, but she hadn’t.

He was still fucking waiting. 

He reached for the PADD and knocked it instead. It made a _clonking_ noise as it skittered along the LCARS display of the hololab computer. “What do you say about Seven for Constance Goodheart?” he asked.

“Seven?” Harry asked. 

He’d been quiet after Tom had snapped at him, and as guilty as he’d felt doing it, the end of the relentless questions about the state of his and B’Elanna’s relationship had made it worth it. “Yeah. She’d look great in the costume.”

Harry looked at him like his was _Supreme Asshole of the Galaxy_.

“B’Elanna might not—”

“B’Elanna thinks this programme is stupid and a waste of time.” Tom bit off the rest of what he was going to say. In fact, B’Elanna hadn’t offered an opinion either way, but she had uncategorically dismissed his offer of running it with him. He’d thought she might have fun playing a villian: _Arachnea, Queen of the Spider People_. She’d simply said, “no”. No excuse, no demurring, just a flat no. Not even, ‘no thanks’. 

“I was thinking of Tuvok for Chaotica,” he added.

“You know, Tom,” Harry said, “you might want to take a look at your own chaos and figure out a way to straighten it out.” He turned and walked out, his own frustration rising up and getting the better of him. 

Tom tilted his head, watched him go, then breathed a sigh of relief. He picked up the PADD and scrolled to the notes for chapter six. Maybe he’d write in a role for the Delaney Sisters.


	21. “Change is annoyingly difficult.” / humiliation - overstimulation - cream pie / laced drink / From Space!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late. But I’m less behind than I thought I would be by the end of week three.

Day 21:

“Change is annoyingly difficult.” / humiliation - overstimulation - cream pie / laced drink / From Space!

***

“Change is annoyingly difficult.” 

“But you _are_ annoyed. I’d call that progress, Seven,” the Doctor said. He flashed her a delighted smile. The two of them were sharing a table off to the side, away from the noise of the rest of the crew. 

They’d brought back the resort programme to celebrate Neelix’ birthday. After the fuss he made over each member of the crew, the captain thought—and rightly so—that it was high time the crew made a fuss over him. He’d refused presents, insisting their _presence_ was enough. He’d also insisted on making his own birthday cake: Jabalian chocolate fudge.

The Paxu resort looked much the same with large potted plants dotting the patio, and flower garlands draping the walls and columns that supported the wide portico that lead to the resort hotel. Tom and Neelix had added brightly coloured balloons, and a wide buffet table laden with finger foods both savoury and sweet.

Unfortunately, the other festive addition that Tom had insisted on was enthusiastically seconded by the birthday boy himself, and that was how Seven of Nine, former tertiary adjunct of unimatrix zero-one, found herself seated at a garland draped table with a pineapple-shell fruity drink in front of her, and a pointed party hat on her head. She had reflected that it wouldn’t have been quite so undesirable if it had been one colour instead of six, and Lieutenant Paris had forgone the pompom on the point and the elastic that was currently digging into her chin.

They’d chosen the resort because it was Neelix’ favourite, and because after their ordeal at the hands—and medical probes—of the Srivani, they needed a relaxing evening someplace warm and fun. Neither adjective was rubbing off on Seven.

“I am frequently annoyed by Lieutenant Paris,” she commented. 

“Oh, and why’s that?” The Doctor leaned toward her and took a sip of his holographic drink.

“He is erratic. I find I cannot anticipate his actions. His verbal communication is often pointless.”

“Yes, well,” the Doctor began, “his conversation isn’t always the most intelligent you’ll get in the course of a day, but he can be surprisingly erudite on certain topics.”

“Elaborate,” Seven demanded.

“Well, for instance, he’s a talented holodeck programmer.” He waved his hand at the room in general. “And he knows a great deal about antique automobiles. And he’s shaping up to be a fine medic, when he’s in sickbay, that is,” he grumbled. “Which reminds me, I must prepare review materials for him on your Borg cybernetics. “If anything ever happened to me, he’ll have to be your doctor.”

“That statement does not fill me with confidence,” Seven said. 

“Hello, Doctor, Seven. Are you enjoying yourselves?” Neelix appeared at their table with a bright smile on his face. “Isn’t this wonderful?!” He raised his outstretched arms toward the holographic sky. “Tom and Harry added a few touches to the programme just for my birthday. Wasn’t that kind of them?”

“They have done a very good job. Felicitations, Neelix,” the Doctor replied. He looked at Seven, who stared placidly back at him. “Seven, it’s customary for people to wish someone a happy birthday on their big day. To express good wishes for the coming year,” he prodded. “We’re working on her social skills,” he said to Neelix.

“I wish you a happy birthday,” Seven repeated. 

“Um, thank you.” Neelix waited to see if anything else was forthcoming. “There’ll be cake later,” he added, glancing from Seven to the Doctor. 

“Now is a good time to practice your conversational skills, Seven,” the Doctor suggested. “Mister Neelix has mentioned the birthday cake, you should reply with a comment about cake or food in general.” He smiled encouragingly. 

“I have not ingested cake since my sixth birthday,” Seven said, her voice a monotone, “when the Borg captured my parent’s vessel and we were made part of the Collective.” 

Neelix stilled, then drew back slightly. “Oh,” he said. He cleared his throat and threw the Doctor a glance before squaring his shoulders and continuing the effort. “Was it chocolate?”

“Rainbow sprinkle. My favourite,” she stated blandly. She waited a moment, but Neelix, surprisingly, had nothing to add to that. “There were seven candles on the cake: one for each year of my life and one extra to ‘grow on’.” 

“And grow you did!” Neelix tried, gamely. 

“Yes. I was placed in a Borg maturation chamber until I reached the age—”

“Well, that’s fascinating!” Neelix cut in. “But I see someone over there who I must say hello to.” He smiled widely and ducked away.

“He did not allow me to finish my statement.”

“No. Perhaps you shouldn’t talk about your time with the Borg while you’re at a party,” the Doc suggested. 

“But I am Borg.” She frowned. “It is all I know.”

“Nonsense. You have an eidetic memory, Seven. You’ve absorbed the knowledge of a thousand different species. Surely there’s something you can talk about.” 

“On Rylon VII, the primary nulliparous in a mating cotiere have Endocrine glands on their throat that turn blue when it is their season to mate, alerting the other members of their breeding cotier. It also alerts any potential competitor so that they can attempt to win a place in the cotiere, thus ensuring their genetic material is shared to another generation.” 

“Really?” the Doctor leaned closer to her. “And who are the Rylonians? The must be a Delta Quadrant species. There’s no mention of them in my database.”

“Rylox. And yes. They are located in grid three-eight-seven. The other side of the quadrant.”

“Shame,” the Doctor murmured. “And where are these Endocrine glands located?”

Seven pointed to her throat, where the elastic band of her pointy hat pressed tightly into the skin between the point of her jaw and the soft, fleshy underside of her chin. “When stimulated, they are highly visible.”

“This is fascinating. How many Rylox are in a breeding cotiere?”

She had opened her mouth to answer, but B’Elanna cut her off. “Seven.” 

“Lieutenant Torres.” It was more a statement than an acknowledgement of her presence. 

“I wanted to talk to you about the other day.” 

B’Elanna was in the same tropical-print dress that she’d worn to the luau six months ago. She had a flower lei around her neck, but had forgone the party hat. Her outfit didn’t make her look any less antagonistic. She had assumed her ‘let’s rumble’ stance: chin up, arms crossed, one hip jutted out. 

Seven’s eyebrow arched. “I have not accessed the power systems since you instructed me not to nine days ago.” 

“Good.” B’Elanna shifted her weight to her other foot. “This is about two weeks ago.” 

Seven frowned, clearly at a loss. 

“When you stole the shuttle and went chasing that Borg ‘homing beacon’.”

The Doctor shifted in his seat. “Lieutenant, I—”

“I want to know where your loyalties lie. I want assurances that the next time you get some signal from space, that you’re not going to shoot my friends and take off, leaving us vulnerable to an attack.”

“B’Elanna, you’re not being fair,” the Doctor cut in. “Seven wasn’t truly in control of her actions.”

“That’s what concerns me. What about the next time something overrides her Borg systems and she thinks she should contact her old friends? Or, maybe it tells her to cause a warp core breach? Or, tell the Borg where we are?” She was looking at Seven, but was obviously addressing the Doctor.

“I doubt very much that that would happen.” 

“I’m sure you didn’t think it would happen last time, either.” Her eyebrow went up in a challenge. 

Tom appeared beside her and put a hand on her back. He handed her pineapple shell decorated with chunks of fruit and a straw. He looked from B’Elanna, still pissed off and obviously angling for a fight, to Seven, who appeared even more Seven-like than usual under the brunt of B’Elanna’s wrath.

“What’s happened? Has something happened?” 

“Nothing’s happened. Yet,” B’Elanna said. 

“I do not understand the source of your enmity, Lieutenant,” Seven began. “The Borg beacon has been disconnected and our long range scans show no—”

“The source of my _enmity_ is that you almost got Tom and Tuvok killed. Next time, you might get us all killed.”

People were beginning to stare. Tom tried an ingratiating smile. “We were fine. We weren’t in any real danger.” 

“Really?” she rounded on him, her voice rising. “So when the B’omar were firing on your shuttle, firing on us because of her,” she jabbed a thumb toward Seven, “they were what, flicking peanuts at your shields?” She gestured to a bowl of barbeque-flavoured peanuts that had been placed on the table. “We lost a potential allie. Not to mention that it took us days to repair the damage.”

“B’Elanna, we’re fine. _Voyager_ is fine. And it’s a party.” He nodded toward the buffet table and the dance floor beyond. “Come on, why don’t we try a slice of Sue’s banana cream pie?”

“I assisted your crew in repairing the damage to _Voyager’s_ systems,” Seven said. 

“That’s my point!” B’Elanna huffed in frustration. “We’re _your_ crew now. We are your collective. And if you’re going to stay here, you need to start thinking that way.”

Seven stilled, not that she’d been moving around much since she’d sat down, anyway. “I will think about what you said, Lieutenant.” 

“Good.” B’Elanna nodded. Seven’s acquiescence appeared to take most of the fight out of her. 

Harry chose that moment to appear. He nodded at Tom and B’Elanna. “Seven, Doc,” he said. He placed a glass in front of Seven. “I noticed you’ve had that drink in front of you for the last half hour, so I took the liberty of getting you this.” 

He pointed to the tall glass. It looked a bit like a test tube with a wide bowl on the top. It was decorated with bright blooms and had a tall straw. The liquid was a pale green at the top of the glass, gradually changing to a muddy brown at the centre, to a pinkish-orange at the base of the stem. 

“It’s a Rekarri Starburst with a special little twist that I had the bartender add.” He smiled.

“A little twist?” Tom’s eyebrow shot up. “Harry, did you spike Seven’s drink?” 

“What? No. Of course not!”

“She shouldn’t be drinking synthehol yet,” the Doctor warned. “I’m not sure how it will interact with her systems.”

“It’s papaya juice,” Harry stated, embarrassment turning his ears as pink as the juice in the glass. “I thought it would make a nice change to the regular recipe.” 

“How did the bartender accomplish this?” Seven asked. “Did he do a chemical analysis of the ingredients in order to ascertain the exact amount of papaya juice required to achieve an optimal flavour?”

“No.” Harry looked puzzled. “He just added some.”

“See, Seven,” the Doctor said. “Some changes are easy. You just decide to try something new and see what happens.”

Tom leaned down and whispered in B’Elanna’s ear, and they wandered away. Seven watched them go.

“Lieutenants Torres and Paris recently began a sexual relationship,” she stated. 

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “They started dating about a month ago, if that’s what you mean.”

“And they used to be merely coworkers. Friends.”

“A little more than friends, but, yeah,” Harry agreed.

“So they are still adjusting to the change in their relationship?”

“We’re all adjusting to it,” he muttered. “But it was a change for the better. Believe me, everyone was relieved when they finally got together.”

“She is volatile,” Seven stated.

“Sometimes. But we all get short-tempered, sometimes. I think they’re good for each other. They compliment each other.”

Seven nodded. “Perhaps you would like to join us, Ensign Kim? We can see if your presence ‘compliments’ our own.”

“Are you ‘assimilating’ me into your group?” He smiled, but the joke fell flat. He hooked a chair from a nearby table and sat. “Since this is a party, maybe you should call me Harry.”

“Harry.” The word felt strange on her tongue. “I think I will not. I prefer to address you by your designation.”

“Well, baby steps,” the Doctor nodded. “Try your drink, Seven.”

She did, and her nose wrinkled in distaste.

“You don’t like it.” Harry said, flatly. 

“I am unaccustomed to it’s sweetness.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

“You are not… annoyed that I did not like your… gift?”

Harry’s eyebrows rose in confusion. “Why should I be? You tried something new and now you know. The important part is that you tried. You took a chance that you’d like it.”

She nodded once. Her eyes drifted to Paris and Torres, standing near the pool under a potted palm. His hand was on her shoulder and he leaned down to speak into her ear again. She laughed, and Seven watched as she wrapped a hand around his wrist pulled him behind the palm tree. 

She wondered if they had analyzed their feelings for each other, weighing the importance of preserving a functioning working relationship against the rewards of a romantic one. Did they believe that their performance of their duties would improve within these new parameters, or did they not consider that at all? Had they given any thought to how a disagreement or jealousy would impede the functioning of _Voyager_ and its crew? 

She suspected that they had not. But they appeared happy. Relaxed.

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes, what?” the Doctor asked.

“Yes. I would like to try a slice of Lieutenant Nicoletti’s banana cream pie.”

“It might be too sweet,” Harry warned.

“I will… take that chance,” she stated.

***


	22. “We could have a chance.” / master mistress - breath play - costumes or masks/ Hallucination / It’s alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also late. I sense a trend. I’m really hoping to catch up this weekend.

Day 22:

“We could have a chance.” / master mistress - breath play - costumes or masks/ Hallucination / It’s alive

***

“I’m telling you, Chakotay, we could have a chance.”

Seska was in his face, breasts practically pressed to his chest, eyes blazing into his. 

“And I’m telling you it’s too dangerous.” 

“We can be in and out before they even know what hit them.”

“No, and that’s my final word.” 

He shook his head and tried to move beyond her, but she put a hand to his chest. Her voice changed pitch, dropped to a soft, honeyed purr. 

“But Chakotay, my contacts tell me there’s a munitions base there. Think of what it would do for morale when we go in there and blow it to hell then disappear before they even have time to count their dead.”

“Their dead children?” Chakotay’s face hardened. “I won’t attack innocents, Seska. You know that.”

Seska’s beguiling expression twisted into a snarl. “They’re not innocent! They’re working in factories that supply the Cardassians with weapons. Or farming crops that feed their military. No Cardassian is innocent!”

“I won’t condemn children and old women.” 

He shrugged off her hand and stalked out of the mess, leaving a vacuum in his wake. She followed him, calling after him, her tone cajoling, turning seductive. If Chakotay was master of all he surveyed, she was his mistress. Literally and figuratively. The room was deathly quiet; everyone had been holding their breath, hesitant to interrupt the argument. It wasn’t funny, really, but Tom fought the urge to laugh. You could take the officer out of Starfleet…

Torres had been sitting at the long mess table, a broken piece of tech in front of her and a mug of coffee in her hand when Chakotay had stormed in trailing Seska behind him. B’Elanna had watched their argument mutely like the rest of the room. Tom had been trying to talk to her, trying to tease from her any little snippet of her past, before her enlistment in the Maquis cause. She’d been tight lipped. She wouldn’t even tell him where she got those knock-out boots, the sexiest part of her pretty damned sexy Maquis ‘costume’ of suede and leather. 

Seska and Chakotay’s argument had put an end to their—almost—easy conversation. In fact, it had sucked all the ease from the room. After not even trying to hide the fact that they were eavesdropping on them, everyone had stiffened and become mute when it had ended. 

B’Elanna drained her mug and stood without a word, grabbing what looked like a singed plasma injector on her way to her feet. He’d been standing at the foot of the table, and he didn’t back away as she moved past him. He caught the scent of her hair and felt the warmth of her as she brushed by. He’d been expecting her to order him out of her way, but she was looking down at her boots and didn’t say anything to him. 

Seska wanted them to lead a raid on Pullock V, an inhabited planet just inside Cardassian space. Aside from the fact that a military presence stood ready to defend it since a raid by the Ornathia resistance cell several years ago, it was populated by civilians and their families.

Tom had no idea if Cardassian children and grandmas were innocent or not. LIkely, the children were taught the mores of Cardassian society from the moment they drew their first breath. And it was likely the grandmothers who did the indoctrinating. He understood Chakotay’s point of view, but did the man actually believe he could attack Cardassian ships and outposts and not have collateral damage? There was no such thing as a clean war.

He didn’t want to think about his own involvement in any raids they flew, not that they had flown any yet. They’d shifted supplies to a Bajoran settlement a few days ago—he had no intention of even stepping off the ship if they went back—but aside from that run, they’d been ‘grounded’: parked inside a crater in a large asteroid on the edge of the Badlands, waiting for orders, Tom assumed. The daring life of a Maquis rebel. 

He drained his own mug and stood. People had resumed their murmured conversations, but none had included him. 

“Not if there are children.” Dalby, a tall, slim, dark-haired human shook his head. His voice had a hard edge to it.

“They’re all fucking complicit,” Jonas replied. “It’s not like you can take one of the kids and raise them to be decent. They’re animals. You should know that.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Dalby warned. “Don’t you tell me what I know.” 

He rose from his chair and slammed out of the mess, and Tom wondered what it was that had made the man so angry, so quickly. Tom didn’t really know any of his shipmates and he suspected if Torres hadn’t been sent to collect him from that bar, she wouldn’t have said two words to him, either. 

It went beyond trying to keep a level of privacy, of secrecy, within the cells. They all had a past, a reason for deciding to join a rebellion, and Tom was starting to believe that fighting Cardassians was only a part of it. Sure, the Cardies had been given some human settlements in the treaty with the Federation, but the people who really had skin in this game were the Bajorans and this little wasp had few of them on its crew. Tom had to wonder what most of the people on the ship were really fighting for. Maybe they simply felt as out of place in the universe as he did, and they were looking for a home. 

HIs mouth twisted. He wasn’t sure if he was being maudlin or overly dramatic. He did know that he was tired of this inactivity. 

He left the mess and headed to his bunk; he was lucky that he didn’t have to share. The room was barely bigger than the cot that served as his bed, a luxurious coffin within a small tin can floating in the vacuum of space. It didn’t bear thinking about. He’d been fine on a starship, even in a small shuttle as long as he had something to do, something to think about besides the bulkhead closing in on him. But these long days and longer nights of inactivity were bringing his claustrophobia back, and making him jumpy. Anxious. 

He didn’t bother to kick off his boots, just stretched out on top of the blanket. His thoughts strayed to Seska and Chakotay. He wondered if Seska was using all the tricks in her manipulation-basket to get him to change his mind. It was obvious that they enjoyed a sexual relationship, he’d sussed that out within an hour of meeting her. But he doubted that Chakotay’s mind would be changed no matter how accomplished she was at sucking his dick.

Tom understood what the man saw in her: she was stacked, and that red hair was attractive, and he always did have a soft spot for Bajoran nose wrinkles. But she was also manipulative, and he detected a cruel streak in her when thwarted. He wondered if she had some ulterior motive in latching onto the captain of the _Liberty_. Though, if she’d been raised in a camp, it made sense that she would try to fall under his protection. Her motivations were pretty easy to read, he decided, the intro psych classes that he took in the Academy proving to be right again. 

B’Elanna: now she was a puzzle. What was a half-Klingon doing caught up in this fight? Was it an honour thing? Or was she simply running away from something, too, and landed here, like him? He remembered her from the Academy. They hadn’t shared any classes; he was a senior and she a new cadet, so they hadn’t met. But he had certainly heard about her, her temper, her obstinacy. To hear his father talk, the ongoing success of the Khitomer Accords hinged on her succeeding in the Academy.

They’d never been introduced but he’d seen her once, through a window in the Rotunda, a large common area where cadets gathered to relax and unwind, and drink too much coffee. The weather outside had been awful, rainy and cold, typical of a San Francisco late winter, and she’d ducked under the overhanging roof on the walkway that skimmed the gardens. She’d been fighting with an upended umbrella, her face pinched in concentration. Her hair had been longer then, falling out of its braid and blowing into her face, and she’d been absolutely stunning. Her full eyebrows were drawn, accentuating her delicate cranial ridges, dark eyes with thick lashes, her lips were parted, and he’d watched as they pressed together in a pout as she blew a frustrated breath. He’d willed her to look up, to look at him through the glass and, suddenly, she did. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before she turned away and took off through the garden, braving the rain as she held the useless umbrella at her side. 

He’d never really forgotten that moment, it came to him at odd times completely unrelated to rain or windows. She had fueled his fantasies for months, and he’d imagined skimming his lips over her forehead ridges, her full, red mouth on his cock, her lithe body beneath his. He’d imagined that she had spinal ridges that he would trace with his fingertips. 

He’d already been told that he’d be posted to the _Exeter_ when he graduated, and he’d created an entire fantasy of her being assigned to his ship, too. They would meet at a mixer in the observation lounge, and though it was bad form to poach the newly commissioned officers, she would come up to him, ask his advice, maybe suggest he show her the ropes to help her adjust to life on the starship. 

They’d be a little drunk on synthohol, and she would invite herself back to his quarters for a nightcap because she had a roommate and, as a newly promoted Lieutenant, jr gr, he had his own rooms. She’d be aggressive, she was Klingon, after all, and she’d push him against the bulkhead almost before his doors had closed. She’d practically tear his uniform off, go down on him until he thought he might burst, and when they finally fucked, under the red lights above his bed, her on her hands and knees before him as he pounded into her from behind, his hands would trace the bronze highlights and deeper shadows that played across her skin. 

Tom’s hand dropped to his groin and his thumb pressed on his hardening cock. He could unbuckle his belt, stroke himself until he came thinking of her mouth and those phantom spinal ridges, but with her a few decks away it seemed wrong. In fact, he should be ashamed of himself for even thinking about her this way at all. Of course, she’d seen him naked, trussed up like a Christmas goose ready for the pan… 

His door chime buzzed and he jumped, guilt lending him a rush of adrenaline. It was stupid. If she ever showed up at his door, he’d know he’d slipped from fantasizing into hallucinating. 

He got up and hit the door release with the side of his fist. It was Seska, her arms crossed in front of her breasts, expression churlish. 

“Chakotay want to see you.”

She turned to go, and Tom followed her into the corridor. When she turned toward the mess, he was right behind her, and she stopped and shot him a glare. “On the bridge.”

He raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t react. Poking her might be fun, since she’d obviously lost the argument with their lord and master, but he’d save it for another time. 

He turned around and headed toward the bow of the ship. Maybe they’d finally received those orders they’d been waiting for. Maybe Chakotay was so impressed by him that he’d decided to make him his XO. Not likely. Chakotay was seated in the captain’s chair, his hand grasping his chin, lost in thought. A very shapely ass and a pair of legs were sticking out from under the impulse drive assembly, and Tom knew immediately who it was. He didn’t need the boots to tip him off either. He felt a wash of heat in his face, and hoped that his fair colouring hadn’t betrayed him. 

“You wanted to see me?” he asked.

Chakotay straightened. “Yes.” He nodded toward what could be seen of B’Elanna. “As soon as Torres is done, I want you to take the helm. We’re going to practise firing on these asteroids and dodging the debris.” 

It reminded Tom of the war games he’d performed when he was an upperclassman at the Academy, taking small fighters into the Main Asteroid Belt between Mars and Jupiter, and he wondered if Chakotay was only doing this because he knew about Tom’s ‘fleet past. It made him wonder what else the man knew about him. 

He nodded his acknowledgement at Chakotay and sat at the helm, beginning his pre-flight check of ship’s systems. He heard the banging of boots on the deck plates, and glanced over his shoulder in time to see B’Elanna climb back to her feet. 

“I can only fix the components of the warp drive so many times, Chakotay. We need replacement parts that actually fit. I feel like a mad scientist, cobbling together old tin cans and pieces of string.”

“Like Doctor Frankenstein with his monster,” Tom suggested.

She turned her head and looked at him, confusion evident. 

“Let’s go.”

At Chakotay’s order, Tom powered up the engines. They didn’t exactly purr but power flowed from the reactor to the warp turbine and that was good enough for him. “It’s alive!” he crowed. 

B’Elanna had taken her seat at the ops station, and Chakotay’s ‘muscle’, Ayala, was at tactical. Tom plugged in the command to make the little ship rise up from the rocky platform of the asteroid’s face, and retracted the landing gear. “Course?” he asked.

“Use your discretion. Just don’t fly us into a hunk of rock,” Chakotay answered.

Tom stiffened, then released his breath in a long, quiet sigh. As the little ship rose up and cleared the curve of the crater, he saw sunlight glinting off the reflective surfaces of the asteroids in the belt, and beyond that the blackness of space. Further out, stars winked and shone coldly. 

For the first time, he wished he was manning weapons instead of the helm.

***


	23. “You can’t give more than yourself.” / angry hate fucking - gagging - tap dancing / Bleeding Out / Devils & Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t give more than yourself.” / angry hate fucking - gagging - tap dancing / Bleeding Out / Devils & Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Melodramatic pap ahead. Read it quickly because when/if I get time I’ll probably toss most of it into the trash. This would generally be filed under, ‘mood’ and likely only used as a resource and not posted. But time’s ‘a ticking on October, so here we are.
> 
> So, this one is heavily influenced by yesterday’s (this afternoon’s) story. Actually, I had the idea for this one first so, chicken, egg, etc. Maudlin Tom Paris. There were a few settings where I could place this. I guess I chose this one because I haven’t done it for this series yet.

Day 23:

“You can’t give more than yourself.” / angry hate fucking - gagging - tap dancing / Bleeding Out / Devils & Demons

***

“You can’t give more than yourself, Tom.” 

The words sounded hollow, a cursory attempt at consolation, counterfeit comfort. 

He hadn’t given himself, that was the problem. His _self_ had been ripped from him, had abandoned him in the remains of a mangled shuttle on a piece of shit moon during a war-games maneuver. Games. War wasn’t a game. Death wasn’t a game to be cheated. 

_Just as the last stroke fades in lonely air_  
_And having whispered, half awake, have sped_  
_With silent feet into sleep’s poppied lair._

But Death hadn’t come silently. It had come with fear and panic and a woman’s scream. With the sound of a warning klaxon from the computer, of the hiss of escaping plasma coolant. With the sound of metal twisting, crunching, of his heartbeat in his ears hammering so loudly and quickly he thought his heart might leap out of his chest. 

It came with blood and pain and the sight of Charlie’s unfocused eyes staring into his own as he lay crumpled and pinned on the ceiling of the upended shuttle. It came with a broken pelvis and broken ribs and a broken arm, with bruised soft tissue and psychological scars. But he still had all of his teeth! And he’d used them to keep smiling, just like everyone expected him to. 

Tom’s offering to the void, to the great gaping maw of time, hadn’t been himself. It had been three young officers, all with promising careers ahead of them, brilliant, focused, brave, loyal. Three for one. Someone got a raw deal and he suspected it was him. 

Commander Jenzo sat quietly, patiently waiting for Tom’s reply. Or for his silence. He was good at that: letting silence stretch and flex and fill a room until his patients felt compelled to strangle that silence with words. But if Jenzo was good at silence, Tom was an expert. At least on the outside. Years spent disappointing his father had taught him that as with the lecture, the silence also ended. All he had to do was wait. 

After eight months of healing and physiotherapy at the base hospital on Caldik Prime, and two months of leave in the arms of his family, Tom had gone back to the _Exeter_. His XO had greeted him warmly if a little reservedly, like he was fragile, like she was anticipating his falling apart. This bag of bones and flesh and skin that was so easily broken, the spark of being that was too easily extinguished. 

He drank his tea, assured her that he was ready to resume his duties, had worn his new pip proudly. He’d been lying, of course. But if he was good at silence, he was an expert at lying. He’d even lied to himself. 

The crew had changed in ten months, some moving on to other postings, some moving in from old ones. A new crop of cadets and private contractors walked the corridors. There were officers he knew, who welcomed him back, bought him a drink in the officer’s lounge, filled him in on the latest gossip. The science officer had gotten pregnant and had her baby, and was on leave. A new life, conceived and born and breathing sweet air in the time he’d been gone. 

He’d kept his appointments with the ship’s counsellor, had told him that it felt strange to be back, that he expected to see his friends appear around a bend in the corridor. Had relayed his regret and a few sleepless nights, but that he was feeling strong and generally hopeful. More lies, laced with just enough of the truth to make the counsellor happy. 

He’d been juggling live photon grenades, dodging phaser fire, tap dancing faster and faster, in an attempt to make up for the time he’d lost, for the lives he’d taken, trying to force everyone to believe that he was fine. That he was over it. That he’d recovered. But the demons of his conscience had invaded his dreams, and the devil on his shoulder whispered poison in his ear: useless, failure, murderer. He lay awake at night seeing their faces, woke--on the rare occasions he slept--feeling like he was bleeding out on the ceiling of that wrecked shuttle.

Food had made him want to gag, bile rising in his throat, sweat breaking out on his brow, his chest, the palms of his hands. He’d started drinking too much, laughing too loudly, fucking anyone who would have him. He would wander the corridors of the ship at night, staring out the viewports at the stars and their cold indifference. There was a time when he’d found them beautiful. Now they mocked him. 

All he’d had to do was keep his mouth shut, play the role he’d been cast, understudy to his father. But he couldn’t. He saw them in the corridors, in the constellations out the viewports, in the swirls of greens and blues and pinks of a nebula. They blamed him and accused him, haunted him until he finally confessed: it was his error, his mistake. His fault. 

He’d gone to his XO and admitted his failure. He’d refused to speak with the counsellor, or counsel, and had been quietly discharged. He was cut loose and he drifted, floated, numbed by booze and more sex and a refusal to think about what he had done. And what he had done after, which was nothing. If he had admitted his error immediately… But he hadn’t. 

Chakotay had found him at a bar, where else? He’d known about his past but he hadn’t cared; they needed pilots. His war wasn’t a game, to him at least. He hadn’t tried to sell him on the cause, hadn’t tried to fill his head with propaganda and dreams of glory and revenge. He’d offered him two meals a day and a ship to fly, he’d offered to give him back his wings.

Tom had taken it, tried not to appear too eager, tried not to look like he’d needed salvation. He could smell Starfleet on Chakotay, too, and he wondered if the man had heard of him, of his father, of the accident. 

He’d accepted because he wanted to fly again, and because he was hungry, for food, for more, and because faceless bodies didn’t give him satisfaction anymore. He imagined the look on his father’s face if he heard that Tom was carrying the revered Paris family name into the Maquis, and his mouth had twisted in pleasure

When he’d been caught by a ‘fleet ship a few weeks later, his father’s humiliation had been complete but it hadn’t brought Tom the joy he’d thought it would. He hadn’t felt anything. He still didn’t. At least, he felt nothing beyond a nagging sense that he’d been dealt a bum hand, a raw deal. 

Jenzo still sat patiently, birds sang and called outside the office window. Sol shone brightly, it’s yellow warmth bathing the lawn of the penal settlement. Tom turned his gaze back to the counsellor and waited. 

“Do you think it’s time to let go?” 

“Of what?” Tom asked.

“Of the guilt. Of the blame. Could it be time to start moving forward with your life?”

Tom chuffed a laugh. “That might be a little difficult while I’m still here.”

“You have an outmeet review coming up. That’s the point of our sessions: for me to evaluate your progress.”

“Yeah. Well. I think I know what your report is going to say.”

“And what is that?” 

Tom sighed. He shifted in his chair. Sometimes the game gets stale, even for him. “It doesn’t matter,” Tom said. “None of this matters. The review doesn’t matter. I’ll be out in less than a year no matter what.” He’d served longer, inside his head. 

“And what are your plans then? What will you do?”

What I always do, Tom thought. Fuck it up. Take something good and twist it. Disappoint his father.

“I’m afraid our time is almost up,” Jenzo said. “How are enjoying your assignment to ground vehicle maintenance? Your supervisor says you’re doing well.”

Tom shook his head. “I took a few credits in introductory engineering. It’s easy.” It was, in truth, effortless. A trained monkey could do it. It gave him too much time to think.

Jenzo nodded and stood. “I’ll see you on Thursday then, at our usual time.”

Tom had been dismissed.

***

The sun was glaring down on him like a disappointed girlfriend, the air heavy and oppressive making him feel slow, sluggish. Sweat had gathered along his hairline and was running in tiny rivulets down his face and into his eyes. He wiped at his forehead with the cuff of his jumpsuit.

“Tom Paris?”

He didn’t recognize the voice, and he squinted up at a shadowy figure, outlined by the sun. 

“Kathryn Janeway. I served with your father on the Al-Batani,” she said by way of introduction. “I wonder if we can go somewhere and talk?”

***


	24. “Patience… is not something I’m known for.”/ shower bath sex -hunter prey - intercrural sex/ Secret Injury / Flying Monkeys

Day 24:

“Patience… is not something I’m known for.”/ shower bath sex -hunter prey - intercrural sex/ Secret Injury / Flying Monkeys

*** 

“Patience...is not something I’m known for,” B’Elanna admitted with a huff. “I wish they would just do it and get it over with.” 

“What makes you think they’re going to do anything?”

“Oh, please. Any excuse for a party. And it’s not as if the party has to have anything to do with the ‘guest of honour’, anyway. I told Neelix Last year I didn’t want him making a fuss over the Day of Honor and I walk into the mess hall to a Klingon buffet and people standing around singing Klingon drinking songs.” Her lips twisted peevishly. 

“He’d already replicated the barrel of blood wine and most of the food. What was he supposed to do, recycle it?” He dipped the sponge into the bathtub and squeezed a trickle of soapy water onto her shoulder and breast, then moved downward to the rounded swell of her abdomen. He leaned forward and gave it a peck. 

“He didn’t do it this year,” he noted.

“That’s because he had a wedding reception to plan.” She sighed and lifted a foot out of the water and pointed her toes in a stretch. 

“Come on, don’t you want the baby to get a rattle with a Starfleet monogram on it? Little pyjamas with feet? A stuffed targ of her own?” Tom’s smile was beguiling. “Okay, sure, a baby shower would be for everyone else as much as it is for us. But people get bored, and sometimes they just need a reason for a party.” He shrugged.

“Maybe they should start having their own little _private_ parties, then a new baby won’t be such a big deal,” she snipped.

“But she is a big deal.” 

“And getting bigger every day,” B’Elanna sighed. She shifted position and warm water sloshed against the sides of the tub. Tom’s hand curled around her knee to balance her while she moved. He dipped the sponge again and squeezed a waterfall onto her thigh. 

“I just feel like I’m being stalked, like I’m their prey or something. I walk into engineering or the mess and conversation stops. People won’t look me in the eye.”

“Maybe they’re just scared of you,” he suggested. “All those Klingon pregnancy hormones.” 

“Hrrrmph,” she grumbled. “I’ll give them something to be scared of.”

Tom grinned. “You know how it turns me on when you threaten violence.” 

“Ha. Ha.” 

“Well, I’m looking forward to it,” he said. He stretched to kiss her on the mouth, slow and deep and sweet. His hand had landed under the water on her ribcage, and his thumb stroked the underside of her breast. “I think what you’re doing is incredible. We’ve created a tiny miracle, and I’m _honoured_ that our friends think she’s worth celebrating.”

She tilted her head and peered at him, the tips of her hair dipping into the water. “I guess I’ve just always been more guarded than you. More private… No,” she contradicted herself, “not _more_; you’re just as private as I am about some things, you just have a different way of deflecting attention.”

He drew back, a look of mock-shock on his face. “And what would that be?”

“Distracting people with parties and new holodeck programmes.” She arched an expectant eyebrow to illustrate her words.

Tom raised a dripping hand to his chest. “I swear I haven’t planned a baby shower or created a new programme to host it. I think this whole thing will fall on Neelix and Harry.” 

She smirked. “I can’t really picture Harry wearing an apron and fussing over canopies and punch.” 

Her gaze rested on her husband but he hadn’t reacted. She studied his face while he wet the sponge again, then washed her knee. She stretched out her right leg along the bottom of the tub, pressing the sole against the wall while Tom cupped her left calf and lifted her leg out of the water to wash it. He ran the sponge along her shin scrubbing lightly, then onto the top of her foot. He shuffled sideways and held her ankle while he washed her toes and arch, sole and heel. He wasn’t looking at her, keeping his focus on the task he’d set himself, and he’d lost his smile. 

“Tom?”

“What?” The smile was back, as well as a look of innocence that she didn’t buy.

“What is it?”

He shook his head. “What’s what?” 

She simply stared at him, her lips twisted, her eyebrows raised.

Tom sighed. “You don’t think I’m keeping something from you, do you? Some secret? And I don’t mean the baby shower.” 

“Nooo… But there are a lot of things about ourselves, about our past, that we’ve never really talked about.” 

She felt the need for caution; two years on she still didn’t want to talk about the events surrounding her depression or the things she’d done to her body to, yes, assuage her guilt at still being alive when her friends, her family, had been slaughtered. She slid her hands over her belly protectively, and Tom’s larger hand covered both of hers. 

“What do you want to know?” he asked. 

“I…” She blew a breath, shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ve never really talked about the accident, or Auckland, why you joined the Maquis. You haven’t really said much about your father, not really.” 

“I don’t mean to keep secrets from you, B’Elanna,” Tom said. Old pain and apprehension were evident in his eyes. He shook his head. “All of that was ten years ago. Part of another life.”

“That life has caught up with us, Tom. And I can’t help wondering how it’s going to impact this life.” She rubbed her belly, indicating their daughter. 

His expression softened. “She’s going to have so many people around her who love her and support her. She’s never going to feel like a disappointment to anyone.”

Old emotions crowded her, and she pushed them aside. “I hope not.”

He shook his head. “It’ll never happen.”

She sucked a breath and nodded. “So, what do you think we’ll get?”

Tom tilted his head back and inhaled loudly as he thought. “The Captain will definitely give her a stuffed dog.” 

“Chakotay will give her her very own little medicine bundle.” 

“A little shirt from Seven with ‘Milk Will Be Assimilated’ written on it.” 

B’Elanna grinned. “Harry will give her a baby PADD that lights up and plays a Brahms lullaby when she presses the keypad.”

Tom smiled and nodded. “What about Neelix.” 

“Ohhh, I don’t know.” B’Elanna’s forehead creased in thought. “He’s sort of a wildcard. He has godfather experience, but he’s not really…” 

“Yeah,” Tom agreed. “Flotter?” he suggested.

“More likely a stuffed Bat’leth so she can be familiar with her heritage.”

“She already has a real bat’leth,” Tom said.

“A stuffed Klingon?” she suggested, her nose scrunching in disapproval.

“Like mommy. Stuffed monkey?” He suggested. “For her human genes?” 

B’Elanna grinned. “A monkey flying a shuttle, like daddy.” 

“A monkey with wings,” Tom suggested. At her perplexed frown he shrugged. “Well, what do you picture when you think of a flying monkey?” He dropped the sponge into the water and held out his hand. “Ready to get out?” 

She’d been studying him, the man she loved with all her soul; the father of her little girl; the man she’d entrusted with her heart and her future sense of belonging. She felt the prick of tears and a swell of emotion. Damn pregnancy hormones! Of course, there was another side of those hormones, one that was far more pleasant than the threat of turning into a fountain. 

She smiled at him, and a different emotion lit her eyes. “You missed a spot,” she said. 

He frowned, perplexed. 

He’d already washed her back and arms, and had definitely taken his time with her breast and belly. But B’Elanna was thinking of another spot, further aft. She reached for the sponge and put it in his hand, then dragged his hand to her inner thigh. Her smile turned wicked. 

Tom grinned in response, and watched her as he ran the sponge down her thigh and over her mons, then back up the other leg. She leaned back against the head of the tub and closed her eyes, and gave a little wiggle. Tom leaned forward and kissed her, and his lips were warm and soft on hers. His tongue teased the seam of her mouth until she opened for him, then it touched hers tentatively, gliding underneath and along her gums until her gut tightened and she whimpered. 

He abandoned the sponge and slid his fingertips over her skin, and she spread her legs wantonly, needing him to touch her. Right. There. She gasped as Tom’s thumb pressed on her hot flesh.

Tom pulled away, nipped on her bottom lip. “Now are you ready to get out?” he murmured. 

“Get the towel, Tom,” she breathed. 

He grinned and stood, then helped her out of the tub and wrapped her up in the large piece of terrycloth. His hands skimmed her body, rubbing, patting, helping the towel to absorb the water that clung to her skin, and he kissed her again. 

Mine, she thought. It didn’t matter how many people watched, or talked, or tried to worm their way into their life, he was hers. All of it was theirs, only theirs, together.


	25. “I could really eat something.”/ aphrodisiacs- pregnancy - hair pulling - smiles & laughter/ Humiliation / Slime!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly tried to figure out the dates. I consulted, I research, I used a stardate-to-month/year calculator. I looked at airdates. Whatever. I’ve gone with this, and I’m under no obligation to keep this as ‘personal canon’. Just go with it. Especially since this conversation would never happen anyway. C’moooooon, November!

Day 25: 

“I could really eat something.”/ aphrodisiacs- pregnancy - hair pulling - smiles & laughter/ Humiliation / Slime!

*** 

“Boy, I could really eat something right about now.”

Tom scrubbed his face with his palms and threaded his fingers through his hair, pulling it tight to his head, and Harry imagined he got a glimpse of Tom years from now, when his hairline had receded to the back of his skull. Or maybe in only fifteen years or so: when their daughter was a teenager, a boiling mix of raging hormones, Klingon temper, and Tom’s penchant for being a smartass all rolled up into a young woman who would likely find life on _Voyager_ constraining. Constricting. And who would probably lead Tom to pulling out what little hair he had left. Harry smiled inwardly at that thought.

B’Elanna outwardly grinned. “It’s the expectant mother who’s supposed to be eating for two, Tom, not the daddy,” she said. 

They smiled at each other, and Tom’s hand crept toward hers across the top of the console. “Wha’d’ya say, mommy, want to try our luck in the mess hall?”

Harry snorted. “If you’d limited yourself to _eating_ two months ago, you wouldn’t be in this _mess_ now.”

B’Elanna’s eyes went round, and she very slowly turned her head to look at him. He watched as her cheeks turned ruddy and her mouth dropped open. His joke fell flat, and Harry had a moment to wonder, did I really say that out loud? Then B’Elanna sent Tom what could only be described as a wicked smile, and Harry realized the other connotation of his words. 

“I meant, if you’d just, you know, had dinner instead of… ummm…” He felt heat suffuse his face; his ears were burning. 

“Harry, did you just make a sexual innuendo in front of my wife?” Tom flashed a smile at said wife, who was trying to smother a laugh behind the hand holding a laser torch. 

“Look, what I meant was—”

“Because it sounded to me,” Tom pressed, that smartass rising to the fore, “that you just made a joke about,” her drew it out, “cunnilingus.”

B’Elanna snorted. 

Harry was certain he was as red as Tom’s uniform. He’d done the math: if B’Elanna was around seven weeks pregnant, then they must have had themselves a little _welcome home party_ after Tom had rescued her from Iden and his band of rebel holograms. Not that he spent his time thinking about the two of them having sex, and since his quarters were on a different deck, unlike the crew on deck nine or deck four, he’d never heard them, either. He’d just been curious about dates like everyone else; everyone was talking about B’Elanna’s pregnancy. There was already a pool on when—and where—she would give birth!

He shouldn’t have done the math. If he hadn’t done the math, he wouldn’t have opened his mouth.

Right after they’d been married, the former Maquis crew had revolted, all of them falling victim to some sort of implanted mind-control hypnosis. They’d managed to take over the ship quickly, and had found an M-class planet where they intended to strand the rest of the crew. Luckily, they’d snapped out of it in time. 

Then Tom and B’Elanna had been scheduled on separate shifts for two weeks, and Harry found himself either working with, or relaxing with, one or the other of them, and they either whined (Tom) or cursed (B’Elanna) the fact that they never saw each other. After they were both back on the same shift, both had let slip that togetherness wasn’t quite all it was cracked up to be when they lived on top of each other, crammed into _Voyager’s_ guest quarters, and ‘hey, Harry how would you like to help me run a level five diagnostic on the lateral sensor array tonight’, or ‘hey, Harry, how about playing some hockey on the holodeck: the former US against the former Soviet Union?’.

He’d been thinking all of this when he’d opened his mouth, and how they’d both grumbled about their crowded quarters which were about to become even more crowded once the baby came. Babies needed a lot of stuff, so he’d been told. He had no personal knowledge of this having escaped babysitting duty with Naomi Wildman; he’d never even held a baby. But even he knew that babies needed a lot of stuff. Where they were going to put it all to avoid a _mess_ was their problem. Mess. Mess hall.

Actually, it was a pretty good pun, as far as those things went.

They were in the _‘flyer_, completing some routine maintenance that Tom had started the other day, before he and B’Elanna had had their blow-up argument over the baby that had resulted in Tom showing up at his door, duffle bag on his shoulder. He wasn’t privy to all of the details, though he’d heard rumours, and they’d made up of course, but he couldn’t help wondering how many arguments they had ahead of them. Tom had a habit of pushing B’Elanna when she didn’t want to be pushed instead of backing off and just letting her be. And if they were already fighting about their daughter before she was even born… Maybe they’d both be too sleep deprived, once she was here, to fight about anything. 

He found he was actually looking forward to babysitting duty this time around. He’d have to get in line behind Neelix and Naomi. 

“So,” Harry said, attempting to change the subject, “what do think Neelix made for dinner?” 

“Oysters?” Tom asked.

“Too slimy,” B’Elanna answered, wrinkling her nose. “Chocolate?” Her little smile was back. 

“Strawberries dipped in chocolate,” Tom said.

“With a nice Katarian merlot?”

They were definitely not talking about anything Neelix would make. Harry felt his ears heat again. He shifted uncomfortably, then got to his feet. “Maybe I should leave you two alone. And I’m just going to forget this whole conversation even happened the next time I’m on a mission in the _’flyer_.”

“Sorry, Harry,” Tom said. He had the good grace to look a little chagrined. 

“No, you’re not.” B’Elanna grinned. She offered Tom her hand and he pulled her up. “Let’s all go get some dinner,” she said. 

“Anything but leola root,” Tom said.

“I think Neelix has finally run out of leola root,” B’Elanna answered. 

“I hope Neelix has finally run out of leola root,” Harry added. 

He followed them out of the shuttle, watching as Tom’s hand slipped from B’Elanna’s shoulder to the small of her back, noting the way she tilted her head to smile at him, and his answering grin. 

He hit the door release, closing the _’flyer’s_ hatch behind them, then followed them out of the shuttlebay and into the corridor. He realized that though their relationship, him, B’Elanna, Tom, had shifted when they’d started dating, that it was changed forever now that they were married. And it was about to change again. He was happy for them, really, but he was a little sad for himself, too.


	26. You keep me warm.” / leather - vanilla - slow and soft - feet/ Abandoned / Under Your Bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They’re getting shorter. Oh well.

Day 26

“You keep me warm.” / leather - vanilla - slow and soft - feet/ Abandoned / Under Your Bed.

***

She wasn’t trying to wake him. She wasn’t trying _not to_ wake him, either, but when her stockinged toe hit the hard heel of his stiff leather boot she let out a curse. 

“_ghay’cha’_,” she hissed, under her breath. 

“B’Elanna?” Tom’s sleepy response drifted up from the mound of blankets and pillows on the bed. “Is that you?” 

“Who else were you expecting?” she muttered. 

“I wasn’t expecting anyone at all,” he clarified. “I thought you said you had that overhaul to do tonight?”

She sat on the edge of the mattress and freed her legs from her uniform pants, then shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. 

“What did you step on?”

“I stubbed my toe on your boots.” 

“Sorry, leaving my boots under my bed is kind of a habit now. I don’t even know I’m doing it anymore.” 

She pulled off her turtleneck shirt and socks then slid in next to him. His arms opened and she cuddled up, resting her head on his chest and winding her limbs around his. 

“Gah! Your feet are freezing!” 

“I’m cold all over,” she replied, snuggling deeper into his warmth. 

“Yeah, you are,” he agreed. “You wanna just climb on top of me?” he asked, humour in his tone. 

“Maybe in a few minutes when I’m not frozen solid.” Her arm tightened around his chest, her fingers curling into his ribs. “You keep me warm.” 

“I do my best.” 

She felt him stiffen slightly as his body pitched toward her and his shoulders left the mattress. His hand slid down her spine to where her undershirt ended, and pulled up on the fabric just enough to slide his hand under. His palm felt like a hot coal on her chilled skin. 

“You are cold!”

“Told you.” She hooked her nose under his shoulder blade. 

The ship was in grey mode while they conserved power, and Janeway had advised her shivering crew to double up their uniform shirts if they were cold. Tom, of course, had suggested a much more enjoyable way they could keep each other warm. The power drain hadn’t just impacted life support, they’d closed down deck seven entirely since there were no crew quarters there, and lights were being kept low all over the ship. Then there was food; replicators were restricted for the time being. A crew living off ration packs and ‘leola root surprise’ was not a happy crew. People were beginning to grumble, and their discontent was directed at engineering. 

“I thought you were going to be busy most of the night,” Tom repeated. 

“My fingers were numb. Remember when the Nyrians abandoned us on that space station? Engineering reminded me of the Argala habitat; I could see my breath. It got to the point where I couldn’t hold a spanner anymore, and Joe told me I might as well go to bed and get warm.” 

“My bed?” There was humour in his tone.

“He didn’t specify,” she chuckled. He likely assumed, though, but after two years she didn’t care what people assumed anymore. “So, why do you keep your boots under your bed?” 

Tom’s body jerked and he peered at her. She tilted her head up, but his face was a dark shadow in the glare of the lights at the head of his bed. 

“Why, lieutenant, have you forgotten all of your training?” he asked.

“Oh yeah,” she replied. “I forgot that they were even anal about where you kept your uniform.” 

“Well, it does make sense; if there’s a red alert, you need to know where your boots are, and you can’t run the risk of tripping over them.”

Tom shifted again, his leg sliding along hers, right hand moving down over her spine to her hip, her bottom, and lower. His fingers wrapped around her thigh, and he pulled her leg up to nestle over his groin, his palm cupped her knee. 

“I know where my boots are. Either beside the door or somewhere near my couch.” 

She felt his smile against her forehead. “And where are they right now?” 

“Umm…” 

“So, if there’s a red alert, we might both trip over them?” 

She heard humour in his tone. “As long as I land on top of you, that might be fun.” She scratched her fingers through his chest hair, and he responded with a caress back down her thigh to her bottom. He squeezed one buttock gently, then dipped his hand under her shirt again, sliding his palm over her waist and up her ribs to cup her breast. He plucked at the nipple, and she felt a different sort of shiver run through her. 

He pushed her onto her back and kissed her slow and soft, his other arm cupping her head, and she definitely felt warmer. Their mouths separated, and he dropped moist kisses on her cheek, her jaw, under her ear. 

She _hummed_ her approval. 

His hand was busy massaging her breast, her ribs, her hip, leaving a trail of fire along her skin, and it was tempting to fall into him, but his comment had made a question pop into her head and she was curious about the answer. He was a riddle: he’d pushed so hard against his father’s strict Starfleet upbringing, and yet, he’d gone to the Academy as ordered, and here he was, playing the perfect ‘fleet officer. And seeming comfortable in the role, right from the beginning. 

“So, where would you leave them if had your choice?”

“Hmm?” Tom stilled again, and his head popped up from where he’d been kissing her bare shoulder. 

“Your boots. If it weren’t drummed into you to put them under your bed, ready to pull on as soon as the red alert started, where would you leave them?” 

He looked perplexed for a moment, then smiled, and those orange lights painted shadows and bronze highlights on his pale skin. With his hair messy, and that wicked smile, he looked devilish. 

“If I had my choice?” He dipped his head and scraped his teeth along her jaw. “I’d leave them under _your_ bed.” 

The words were said against her mouth, then he lowered his head the fraction of a centimeter needed to press his lips to hers. She sighed and gave herself over to him, to his heat and strength, and all the things he made her feel. She was definitely warm now, burning, and as he slid fully on top of her and pressed her body into the mattress, she thought: if I could bottle this feeling, I could power the warp core.


	27. “Can you wait for me?”/ orgasm denial - suspension - against a wall - tickling/ Ransom / Kill it with fire!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had this idea for a while and I _think_ I successfully manipulated the prompts to make it work? Maybe? N any case, here it is!

Day 27:

“Can you wait for me?”/ orgasm denial - suspension - against a wall - tickling/ Ransom / Kill it with fire! 

***

“Can… can you wait for.. for me?” 

Her voice was a breathy growl and it skittered along his nerve endings feeding into his pleasure, heightening sensation. Electricity gathered in his lower back, sparking, tickling, prickling, and his limbs stiffened, muscles tightened. He dug his fingers into her hips and clenched his jaw, trying to obey her. 

He opened his eyes and looked at her. He watched her breasts sway as she rode him, noted the strong line of her jaw and cheekbone. She was gorgeous with the lights from his bed kissing the fine sheen of sweat on her skin. Her head was thrown back and her throat exposed, and he wanted to rise up and kiss her there, bite her, chew on her. Her hands on his shoulders tightened, and fingernails sank into his flesh. His orgasm rushed at him and he bit his lip trying to hang on. 

“God! B’Elanna, I—”

The red-alert klaxon sounded and Tom started, limbs stiffening, his body rising off the bed a few centimetres. B’Elanna jerked, sliding off of him and falling onto the mattress. Tuvok’s voice came over the comm, a counterpoint to the red pulsing lights that had activated as soon as they heard the siren blare the warning.

“_Red alert. All personnel report to stations._”

She rolled and sat with her legs off the bed, and reached for her discarded uniform. He did the same, on the other side. He pulled on his briefs, trousers, shirt. Reached under the bed for his boots and stepped into them, sockless, even as he pulled his shirt down over his chest. He grabbed his jacket and shoved his arms through the sleeves as he ran. They had to wait for the turbolift, and he pushed her against the bulkhead, his hands framing her face as he kissed her quickly, then the ‘lift was there and he stepped in. 

“Bridge!” he ordered. “I love you,” he said as the doors started to close on her while she waited for the next car. He saw her smile, watched her lips part to form the word, ‘I’, then she was gone. 

The bridge was controlled chaos. He stepped out of the turbolift just as Janeway came through the far doors calling, “Report!” Tom stumbled as the ship shuddered under a volley of phaser fire. He had timed it, in his head, as the ‘lift car sped him to deck one: how long it would take for the next car to appear, how many seconds for B’Elanna to step inside and order it to engineering. Down, across, perhaps down again, its computer brain recognizing her voice and taking the fastest route, not stopping to let anyone else on. 

Jenkins stood when he tapped her shoulder, and as he scanned the readouts on the display in front of him, as he listened to Tuvok’s report to the captain, his brain calculated: deck eight, a beat, deck nine, another beat, deck ten, the ship shuddered again and Tom gripped his console, deck eleven. Half a breath and the doors would be open, then she would be running the short distance down the corridor. 

He felt better, for some reason, when he knew she was there, barking orders of her own. 

“Shields at eighty-seven percent,” Tuvok stated. 

The captain was attempting to open a channel with the attacking ship. By answering a distress call, they had inadvertently crossed a boundary, slipped into a sector of space claimed by yet another suspicious and war-like Delta Quadrant race. Saying, “I’m sorry” wasn’t enough. The attacking ships had been firing on another, apparently clueless, traveller, and when _Voyager_ answered that distress call, they had _aligned themselves with the enemy_. 

Scans revealed that neither ship was a match for them, and Tom sat, stiff and impatient, waiting for orders to leave the sector. 

Three warnings was all they got. After the aggressor’s ship fired on them a fourth time, Janeway retaliated, taking out their weapons array and propulsion in one lucky shot. They left them drifting, suspended in space, and Tom eased _Voyager_ close to the damaged vessel and settled above them like a mother bird with her chick under her belly. They extended shields to protect them, and Tom listened to an exchange between the captain of the ship and Janeway. They agreed to be towed out of the sector, and Tom keyed in a course that would take them back to a known area of space, ready to go to warp as soon as Janeway gave the order. His heart rate was dropping, his respiration was slowing, and he blew a long, slow breath. 

“Warp six, Tom,” Janeway said. 

Tom keyed in the command, but they didn’t move. He read a cascade failure in the plasma coils. B’Elanna’s voice came over the comm, and he felt relief wash through him. 

“_Warp drive is offline, Captain. A lucky shot. Give us a few minutes._”

“We may not have a few minutes if more of those ships show up,” Janeway cautioned. “One we can handle, a group of them…”

Tom had already ‘hit the gas’ at full impulse, and they crept away from the attacking ship, dragging the smaller vessel with them. True to her word, three minutes later, the warp drive was back up and Tom shot them to safety.

Currently, they were at a full stop well outside what they considered to be their newest enemy’s borders. It would pose a problem moving forward, and top of Janeway’s mind was gathering a little information from the people they’d rescued. If they were lucky, the way they’d come was on their way home.

They were called the Inferiae and, because there were no warning buoys to deter other ships from crossing the borders, like _Voyager_, they’d found themselves under attack by the unnamed enemy before they’d even known they were in restricted space. They had declined to come aboard, but had agreed to allow a landing party from _Voyager_ to come to them. Tuvok, Chakotay, and Tom, complete with his medkit, had beamed over. 

Their ship was a mess, and it was obvious to Tom that they wouldn’t be going anywhere under their own steam for a while. They were a small trading vessel, with a crew compliment of twenty-seven, and while Tom treated the injured crew, he listened while Chakotay and their captain discussed their situation. They would be grateful for any assistance _Voyager_ could give them repairing their ship, and would repay them with supplies. Though Chakotay said it was unnecessary, they’d insisted. 

Tom, listening with half an ear, sincerely hoped that their hold wasn’t full of leola root. 

“Our warp engines are offline,” their engineer said, pain creasing his features as Tom cleaned a nasty burn on his foreleg and applied a dermal regenerator to the wound. “I cannot repair them.” 

“Don’t worry.” Tom smiled at his patient, hoping their species took a smile as reassurance rather than a threat of being eaten. “My wife is our chief engineer. She can fix anything. She’ll have your engines repaired and have you on your way in no time.”

“You possess a _skklllzzz_?” 

The universal translator fritzed out, and Tom frowned. 

“My wife, B’Elanna,” he repeated, “she’ll be able to repair your ship.” He hoped his message got through. 

“We have...” another stutter, then, “rodinium. We trade.” 

“That’s not necessary,” Tom said.

“We trade,” the engineer insisted. 

He was getting agitated, and Tom held up a hand to calm him. Finally, not knowing what else to do, Tom agreed. “Sure. Okay. We could use some rodinium.” B’Elanna would be pleased, actually, and Tom was sure she would find a use for it. Some guys brought their wives flowers… 

*** 

He hadn’t heard from her but that wasn’t unusual when she got her teeth into a problem. She had beamed over with a couple of teams of engineers, and barked orders after a quick assessment of the Inferiae’s ship. Tom hadn’t even seen her in the last twelve hours, after he’d patched up their engineer and left to go to their bridge. 

He’d beamed back to _Voyager_ and topped up his medkit, written his report and consulted with the Doc. He’d finally come home an hour ago, hopeful but not really assuming he’d see her there. He’d showered and changed, and now he was debating laying the table for a meal or calling her to coax her back into their bed to finish up what they’d started last night. It depended how far along she was with the repairs. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. 

He tapped his combadge. “Paris to Torres.” He waited a beat but there was still no response. He raised his hand and double tapped. “B’Elanna, it’s Tom.” Still nothing. Either she was in the middle of something so engrossing that she didn’t hear him, or it was so loud over there that she _couldn’t_ hear him. Or... another possibility struck him. He tapped his chest for a third time. 

“Paris to ops.” 

“_Ops, here._” Harry’s voice came over the comm. “_What’s up, Tom?_”

“Are the comm signals down between us and the Inferiae ship?”

_”Nope. The captain was just talking with them. Why?_”

“I’m trying to raise B’Elanna but she’s not answering me.”

There was a pause and he heard Harry’s fingers tapping at his display, heard the quieter humms and beeps of the bridge in the background. 

“_I can’t raise her either,_” Harry said. More quiet, then he was back. “_She’s there, I’m reading one half-Klingon life sign._”

“Do you automatically assume someone is dead if they don’t answer you, Harry?” Tom laughed. He wondered if Harry had abandonment issues.

“_Just checking,_” Harry replied. “_Maybe you pissed her off last night before the red alert and she’s not answering you because she’s mad at you?_”

Tom grinned. He was pretty sure that she’d been perfectly pleased with him last night, at least up until the red alert had so rudely interrupted them. But that didn’t explain why she wasn’t answering. “Thanks, Harry,” Tom said. He closed out their link and thought for a moment. Would it be overreacting to comm Tuvok? Chakotay? The Captain herself? If she’d just been speaking with the Inferiae captain, maybe she could ask if they were almost done with _Voyager’s_ chief engineer. 

He decided to go the back way through a ‘Jefferies tube’ first, rather than ‘beaming in’. “Paris to Carey.”

“_Carey, here. If you’re wondering how long your wife will be, why aren’t you asking her yourself?_”

Tom grinned. Trust Joe to suss him out immediately. “I tried. She’s not answering my hail. Or Harry’s either.” 

There was a pause. “_That’s odd. She sent the rest of us back over an hour ago. Said she had a few instructions for their engineering team and that she’d be right along. She said something about a special dessert you had planned._”

Tom frowned, worry creasing his brow. “Can you try her? Make something up if you have to, just find out how long she expects she’ll be.” 

“_Sure._” 

Joe clicked off and Tom waited. Within a minute, Joe was hailing him. “_No response to me, either. I don’t want to alarm you, but she was looking forward to getting back here. What do you want to do?_” 

Tom was already out the door and headed to the ‘lift.

***

“That’s insane!” 

“Agreed. But apparently our word for ‘wife’ is very similar to the Inferiae word for ‘possession’. When you told their engineer that B’Elanna could repair their warp engines, then agreed to take the rodinium in exchange, you traded her.” 

“That’s…! I’m sorry, Captain, but who believes that you can trade people?” 

“A race that believes indentured servitude is legal and common practice,” Janeway replied. “Don’t worry,” she held up a hand, “I have no intention of allowing them to keep her, but you’re going to have to suspend your disbelief for a little while, Tom, if we’re going to figure out a way out of this.” 

Tom shook his head, not quite believing what he was hearing. “So, okay. We give back the rodinium and they’ll give B’Elanna back, right?”

“No. They won’t,” Chakotay said. His tone was curiously placid for having just said something so outrageous. “They believe a fair bargain was struck, and they never reverse a transaction; they believe it would offend their gods.”

“Offen—” Tom swore under his breath. “Fine, they’re no match for us; we’ll just beam her back.” 

Chakotay shook his head. “Their shields were the first thing she repaired.” 

Of course they were. “Then we pound them with phasers until their shields fail!” 

He was aware that his voice was rising, but he felt helpless, and he couldn’t believe that the rest of them—the captain, Chakotay, Tuvok—were sitting so calmly when he wanted to rain fire on the heads of the Inferiae until they released his wife! This was a travesty. They’d come to their rescue, and made an enemy along the way, only for these people to… to steal one of their crew! He should have suggested Joe. Or Vorik. Or Seven. At least he didn’t have the ‘authority’ to give away any of them! 

“We could simply offer them another trade,” Tuvok suggested. 

“But what would they take for the most brilliant engineer in the Delta Quadrant?” Chakotay asked. 

_She is more precious than rubies and all the things thou canst desire are not to be compared unto her_. Tom thought of the ancient bible verse and chuffed a breath. His temper spiked and he felt the ridiculous urge to punch the wall, something he hadn’t done since he was a teenager pissed off by his father’s demands and strict adherence to ‘rules’. He had the feeling that his fist wouldn’t fare as well against the duranium bulkhead as it had against the old plaster wall of his bedroom. They’d seen B’Elanna in action; what the hell did _Voyager_ have that could possibly ransom her back?

“_Captain,_” Harry’s voice interrupted them. “_The Inferiae just notified us that they’re ready to leave._”

“Stop them. Put a tractor beam on them.” 

Janeway was up and out from behind her desk before she’d finished giving the order. Tom and the others followed her out of her ready room. 

“Hail them,” Janeway said. 

Tom stood behind the railing that separated the command deck from the upper bridge. He debated relieving Baytart just in case the situation escalated into a battle, but he was in his blue shirt and black slacks, dressed to seduce his wife over a nice dinner and a better bottle of wine, not in his uniform. 

“Tom, take your post.” Chakotay made the decision for him. 

“Hailing frequency open, Captain,” Harry said. 

The face of the Inferiae captain filled the screen. “_Captain Janeway, our deepest thanks. The gods are pleased._” 

“Well, I’m not,” Janeway said.

The alien tilted his head. “_Any grievances must be forwarded to the homeworld—_” 

“My grievance will be dealt with right now. You have someone who belongs to me and I want her back.” 

The alien captain looked to the side and signaled, and Tom saw his confusion and surprise when his ship didn’t zoom off with B’Elanna inside it. “_You must cut your tractor beam,_” he said.

“You must give me back my chief engineer first,” Janeway replied. 

“_All grievances—_”

Janeway’s voice dropped to a silky threat. “I’m tired of playing games with you people. When I said she was mine, I meant it. Tom Paris didn’t have the authority to trade her to you.”

“_You accepted our rodinium. We accepted the engineer. All grievance—_”

“Harry, beam back their rodinium.” 

Harry shook his head. “I can’t. Their shields are still up.” 

“Then beam it into space, as close to their ship as you can.”

“Aye, sir.” 

The viewscreen shifted to a shot of the exterior of the Inferiae ship, and within moments, the metal appeared in space, sparking against their shields. 

“Everyone on my ship is under my direct command and control. I am responsible for the lives of every one of them. They need my approval to do anything. And I did not give my approval for this trade. B’Elanna Torres belongs to me, and I want her back.” 

The screen split to show the Inferiae captain. He didn’t answer. He was busy listening to a litany of complaints from his bridge crew. 

“You can lower your shields and we’ll transport that metal back into your cargo hold, or you can wait until it chips away at your shields until they fail and it impacts against your hull. Either way, I won’t wait forever for your decision. If I don’t have my engineer back in ten seconds, I will rain phaser fire on your ship until your shields buckle, is that clear?”

The alien captain glanced at the viewscreen, then back at the readouts at his station. 

“Nine,” Janeyway said. “Eight. Seven.”

He made a gesture off to his left, his face puckering with distaste. 

“Shields are down,” Harry said.

“Energise.” 

The metal shimmered out of existence, and Baxter’s voice came over the comm. “_We have her, Captain._” 

“Cut tractor beam. Engage.”

Baytart keyed the conn, and they left the Inferiae in their dust. Tom breathed a sigh of relief and ran for the ‘lift.

*

He caught up to B’Elanna in sickbay. She’d answered his hail this time, and told him that Baxter had passed on the Doc’s order that she report immediately for a checkup. Her assurances that she was fine and just wanted to go to her quarters for a shower went unheeded. 

He tore through the doors at a jog and crossed sickbay faster than the Doctor would have deemed prudent, hauling her into his arms with enough force to almost pull her right off the biobed. He kissed her, hard and quick, then leaned back to stare into her eyes. 

She was disheveled, with streaks of dirt and soot on her skin. Her uniform was rumpled and dirty, but not torn. Otherwise, she looked fine. He took the medical tricorder from Sam and started to scan her. 

“The captain forgot to trade for my kit; I lost my favourite hyperspanner.” 

Tom’s mouth twitched. She did, in fact, have a favourite. 

“I called the bridge and asked if we could go back for it, but Chakotay said no.” 

“I’ll replicate you a new one,” Tom assured her. 

“You traded me for fifty kilos of rodinium.” She raised an eyebrow. “Why should I trust you?” 

“It seemed fair,” Tom replied. “You don’t weigh much more than 50 kilos yourself.” He finished scanning her, then folded the tricorder and tucked the wand into its clip. “You’re fine.” He was immensely relieved. 

“Am I?” she asked, eyebrow arched. “Actually, I’m feeling a tiny sting of betrayal.” 

Tom fought a smile. 

“I mean, I know we’ve only been married for a month, but if you’re tired of me already…” She shrugged, her left hand arcing upward, palm up, the lights in sickbay glinting off the gold ring on her third finger. “I figured if you were going to trade me for anything, it would be pizza,” she said.

He took her hand in his and kissed the palm. “Not even for riches and honour.”

She frowned, obviously missing the reference, then her stomach growled. 

“Dinner at home or in the mess? I have to warn you that Neelix traded for something. I have no idea what.” 

She studied his face for a long moment, and Tom fought the urge to pull her back into his arms. He helped her down from the biobed instead, and slipped an arm around her waist. 

“Home,” she said. “And while I shower, how about you replicate us something?” She smiled, and her eyes turned soft. “Being away from you has made me hungry.” 

Tom just grinned. They crossed the corridor and called for the ‘lift. The doors opened immediately, the car he’d used to on his flight from the bridge still waiting in the shaft. She stepped forward and tugged him inside after her, and he called for their deck, then pressed her against the wall of the ‘lift and kissed her. 

***

Proverbs, 3:13-18.


	28. “Enough! I heard enough!”/ temperature play - swallowing - stockings tights pantyhose / Beaten / Scarecrows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve always wondered about the beginning of this conversation.
> 
> Also, I’m sort of playing fast and loose with the prompts. So it goes.

Day 28:

“Enough! I heard enough!”/ temperature play - swallowing - stockings tights pantyhose / Beaten / Scarecrows

***

“Enough. I heard enough.” 

“C’mon, Harry. I need details here.”

Harry held up a spread hand and started to tick off his points on his fingers. “Making out behind the potted palms in the resort.”

“We weren’t making out. It was one kiss.” 

“One very long kiss from what I heard. Staring at her all through breakfast yesterday, then shutting the ‘lift doors on me and Ayala when we were all heading to the bridge. _Kissing_ in the Doctor’s office in sickbay.”

“Okay, I’ll admit to that.” Tom grinned. “She likes to ‘play doctor’.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Harry replied. “Touching her thigh under the table in the briefing last week. And that one I saw myself so don’t try to deny it!” Harry jabbed his index finger in Tom’s face. 

“I can’t deny any of it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me Harry; I can’t keep my hands off of her. I think about her all the time, and when we’re in the same room, I…” He shook his head. “And now ‘half the ship’ is talking about us.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t try to swallow her face in the middle of main engineering, people wouldn’t be gossiping about you two.”

“We were at her diagnostic station on the upper deck,” Tom defended. 

And he didn’t try to swallow her face, but there were moments when he was certain that he could never get enough of her, never be close enough to her, unless he swallowed her whole. He hadn’t felt this way since he was a kid, a teenager: hot one minute, boiling the next. It was a little disconcerting in a grown man. 

He tilted his chin up and bonked the wall of the ‘lift car with the back of his head a couple of times. B’Elanna _did_ like playing doctor with him, and he loved _examining_ her. He was thinking of replicating a white lab coat… 

He thought about her all the time. Even when he was at the conn she was in the back of his mind: when would he see her again? what was she doing now? could he convince her to wear her old Maquis boots and leathers just for him? Or maybe some slinky underwear? He immediately envisioned B’Elanna in stockings and a black satiny corset, a silky version of Klingon armor, with her breasts pushed up and spilling out of the neckline. It laced up the back, and he’d take his time unlacing her. Or… or maybe he’d slit each tie, one at a time, with a sharp knife… 

He blew a breath and decided it was more than time to change the subject. 

“Tom Paris, playboy of the Delta Quadrant, taken down by one little half-Klingon engineer,” Harry sang out.

“Careful, Harry. I’ll tell her you said that.” 

But it was true, he’d been thrown for a loop, bested, beaten. He felt like the legs had been taken out from under him with one swing of a bat’leth, and he didn’t mind a bit. They’d worked together for three years, been friends for most of that time. He’d noticed that she was attractive, of course, _gorgeous, sexy, brilliant_, his brain whispered, but she’d been aloof, at least with him. All business. Until she hadn’t been. Until she’d decided she could, what, trust him? It had taken him a long time to win that trust. 

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when his interest in her had changed but he did know that leaving her and Harry was one of the few regrets he’d had when he’d gone undercover to rout Seska’s spy. Gradually, slowly, they’d started to hang out together without Harry: coffee here, lunch there, a workout in the holodeck. But for the last six months, things had been different. It was like a light went on in his brain or, maybe, like he’d finally opened his eyes and saw what was right in front of him. 

He felt grounded now, like he was truly part of something bigger. Like he belonged. When he’d first come on _Voyager_ he’d been all bluff and bluster, an empty uniform stuffed with straw, but being with her had made him… real, whole, in a way that his lieutenant’s pips didn’t. 

He didn’t really want to spend any time pondering why. 

“So, why did the captain keep you two back at the meeting this morning?” Harry asked. 

Tom swallowed and felt his face heat. “She, umm,” he hedged. “She just wanted to talk to us.” 

Harry raised an inquisitive eyebrow. The ‘lift stopped and they stepped out into the corridor on deck two and turned toward the mess hall. 

“Talk. Uh huh. And what did she say?” 

“Sheeeee,” Tom squirmed, remembering, “told us she’d heard the gossip about us, and said we were behaving like adolescents, then put us under orders to ‘use better judgement’.” 

“Whoa!” Harry huffed a laugh as they walked into the mess. “Under orders to use better judgement? That’s pretty harsh.” 

“I hope I can manage it,” Tom replied. Even now, he was thinking about her. Her eyes, the softness of her hair. The curve of her waist. She’d bewitched him; he was a man possessed. 

“Well, she does have a point. You could have been more discreet.” 

“Oh,” Tom raised an eyebrow in mock outrage, “I forgot I was talking to the most upstanding ensign in Starfleet,” he gibed. Harry’s time would come, he decided. One day, a woman would walk into his life and he’d forget all the rules and the training and be unable to resist. She’d feel like home, like all the things he never thought he could have, and she’d blow him away. 

Tom smiled as Neelix greeted them and offered them fresh eggs for breakfast. He wondered if B’Elanna was busy in engineering, or if she would risk the wagging tongues and join them. He thought about a private dinner for two, in his quarters, B’Elanna in a sexy dress, a bottle of wine, making love with her again while their dinner grew cold on the table. 

“So, I guess your relationship isn’t exactly a secret anymore?” Harry asked, snapping him out of his daydream.

“Do you think anybody on this ship can keep a secret?” Tom complained. He wasn’t really upset, or even chagrined, but he had hoped to keep their relationship private for a little longer. Something that was just theirs. Something they didn’t have to share with the rest of the crew. 

Then Neelix hit the deck and he stopped thinking about B’Elanna for a full five minutes.


	29. “I’m doing this for you, you know.” / sex work - role play - costumes / Numb / Jack o Lantern

Day 29:

“I’m doing this for you, you know.” / sex work - role play - costumes / Numb / Jack o Lantern

***

“I’m doing this for you, you know.”

“You can’t imagine my gratitude.”

“It’s not like I want to spend my evening with the Delaney sisters,” Tom continued. “Just between us, Meg can get a little _handsy_.” He tapped a few more commands into the computer console, then straightened. “There. All ready.” 

“They’re late.” Harry turned and glanced down the corridor. “Maybe they think this is a dumb idea, too.” 

“What do you mean dumb? It’s going to be a blast. And you’re going to look great.” Tom addressed the computer, “Load programme Paris-Hill Alpha One.”

::Ready::

The holodeck doors swished open and Tom stepped through onto a busy street corner in 1941 San Francisco. Harry groaned in exaggerated pain and followed Tom inside. Immediately, both ‘shed’ their uniforms and were clothed in three-piece suits, Tom’s a brown pinstripe with a dark purple shirt and blue necktie, Harry in a more flattering grey, with a blue shirt and navy tie. Both had fedoras on their heads, and while Tom tilted his at a rakish angle, Harry simply took his off. 

“I look like an idiot.” 

“You look great, Harry.” 

Tom started to walk along the sidewalk, taking in the tall buildings and wide street filled with moving automobiles. There was a chorus of blaring horns and raised voices in the background. Harry jogged to catch up with Tom, stepping into the street to avoid a woman with a large baby carriage coming directly at him. A car screeched to a stop, the driver leaning on the horn, and Harry was bumped by the hood of the car. He waved a hand to the irate driver, and stepped back onto the sidewalk beside Tom.

“See,” Tom grinned. “Isn’t it great? 

“If you’re doing this for me, why do you get to play Dixon Hill and I’m just your sidekick?”

“You’re not just my sidekick, _Ace_, you’re going to solve the whole mystery. Didn’t you read the script?” Tom frowned. 

“I glanced at it.” 

Tom sighed and rolled his eyes. “What?” Harry continued, “It’s Dixon Hill: bad guys, dead bodies, coppers, femme fatales. What’s to study?” 

“I spent all night last night rewriting The Big Goodbye just for you. The least you could do is look it over.” 

They’d arrived at a squat, grey building and Tom jogged up the stairs taking them two steps at a time. Harry obediently followed him inside the building then up a steep wooden staircase and down a long, dimly lit hallway into an office with _DIXON HILL PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR_ painted on the door’s frosted window. 

Harry looked around the rather shabby office with a raised eyebrow. “I guess you don’t earn much solving crime, huh?”

“Ambiance, Harry. It’s called, ambiance.” 

The outer office was empty of people but crammed with old, dingy wooden furniture: a desk complete with an old fashioned black telephone and a typewriter--you couldn’t be Tom Paris’ friend and not know what those objects were--wooden coat rack, a bookcase and some sort of storage locker. A few uncomfortable looking chairs. 

“That’s strange,” Tom said. “Madeline usually beats me in.” 

“Madeline?”

Tom frowned. “My secretary. C’mon, _Ace_, get with the programme.” 

“Ace Futura is a stupid name, Tom.” 

“Jenny thought it was cute.” Tom waggled his eyebrows and Harry sighed again.

Tom crossed the room and opened a door marked PRIVATE that led to his inner office. There was no one in there either. It looked very much like the outer office, with the addition of a burgundy leather chair placed in front of a large wooden desk that was covered in papers. Light from outside shone in through the slats of the blinds on the windows, painting the threadbare ornamental carpet in stripes of light and shadow.

“I hope she’s alright,” Tom said, stressing the sentence slightly. 

On cue, the door to the outer office opened, and a suited man in his thirties entered. “Dix,   
I’m a minute ahead of my lieutenant. I’ve got some bad news for you.” 

“Bad news, McNary?” Tom asked. “Every day is bad news in my line of work.” 

“Your secretary’s been murdered!” 

“What?” Tom sat with exaggerated care. “But… how?”

“I think you can tell us that, Hill.” An older man with greying hair shouldered his way past Harry and dropped a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You’re coming with us!”

“What? Why?” Tom demanded. “Ace, help me out here,” Tom hinted.

Harry reached for the ‘bad cop’s arm. “You can’t seriously think that Dixon had anything to do with this, can you?”

“You’re gonna wanna get your mitts off’a me before I break ‘em and haul you in, too, fancy boy.” 

Harry let go of his arm, his eyebrow rising at the insult. The cop hauled Tom to his feet and pulled him out from behind the desk. 

“Careful, you’ll wrinkle the suit,” Tom groused. 

“Dix? What’s going on?” 

Megan Delaney appeared in the doorway dressed ‘to the nines’ in a form-fitting evening gown and fur stole. Her hair was swept up on top of her head in an elaborate twist, and little tendrils fell in loose curls around her neck. 

“You tell me, sugar,” Tom replied. “You’re supposed to be dead.” 

Meg laughed, a forced, nazel bark. “Don’t be silly, Dix. I’m right here.” 

“Well, if Madeline’s right here,” Harry stated, finally getting into the game, “who’s lying in your morgue?”

The scene flickered and Tom, Meg, Harry, and the two holodeck characters found themselves in a cold, windowless, tiled room. There were large, round lights suspended from the ceiling by coated wires, and they gave off stark pools of light. One was shining down on a metal gurney with a sheet-draped body on it. 

“That was abrupt,” Harry deadpanned. 

“It’s the way it would have been done on television,” Tom defended. “They always have a quick scene change.” 

“You got a sister, toots?” Bell, the older detective asked. 

Meg widened her eyes and shook her head. She wrapped her fingers around Tom’s arm and looked up at him. “I’m scared, Dix.” 

“Don’t worry, doll,” Tom answered. “I’m right here; nothing will happen to you.” 

Meg/Madeline nodded and took a shaky step toward the gurney. Bell jerked the sheet down, and Meg screamed. 

“Aaaaaaiiiiihhhhhhh!”

Harry flinched and raised a hand to his ear. Tom didn’t have that luxury since Meg was digging her fingernails into his bicep. 

“She looks just like me!” Meg/Madeline said. “But trashier.” 

The body on the table did look like Madeline, but trashier. The dress she was wearing was lower cut and shorter, showing off her plentiful assets. Her auburn hair was loose and flowing off of the table, stained dark with dried blood. Her pretty blue eyes were staring, unseeing, toward the far wall, and her mouth, bright red with lipstick, was hanging open in a silent scream. Unlike Meg’s. 

“She’s a ringer for you, doll,” Tom/Dix said.

“A dead ringer,” Harry/Ace agreed. Tom grinned at him. 

“I have no idea who she is,” Meg/Madeline said. 

“Well you better figger it out, toots,” Bell said. 

“Are you sure you don’t have a sister?” Lieutenant McNary asked. 

“I think I’d know if I had a sister,” Meg/Madeline protested. 

“This don’t help me figger out who’s the chippie on the slab,” Bell said. 

“Chippie?” Harry asked.

“The pro skirt.” Bell jabbed a thumb toward the body. 

“Where is she?! Where is she?! Where’s my twin sister?”

Jenny burst through the door of the morgue and stopped dead in her tracks. She stared at Meg, tilting her head slightly. “Trixy?”

Meg/Madeline took a step backward and screamed again, but it was cut off when Tom grabbed her elbow. “Easy, doll,” he said. 

“Who are you?!” Meg/Madeline demanded.

“Who are you!?” the mystery doppelganger/Jenny screeched. 

“The important question is, who’s she?” Tom/Dix pointed to the dead woman on the table. 

Jenny turned her head and, upon seeing the body, screamed, then fainted right into Harry/Ace’s arms. 

“This is so much fun!” Jenny whispered. 

The scene changed again to a wood-panelled office, upstairs in the police precinct building. Harry righted the now-awake Jenny so she stood on her own two feet. 

“Take a seat, ladies,” Bell ordered. “I’ll deal with you in a minute.” They did, eyeing each other warily. “You,” Bell jabbed a finger at Tom/Dix, “I wanna know where you were last night, and who you were with.” 

“I was at my place and I was alone.” Tom’s chin came up, and he stiffened. “Are you accusing me of something, Bell?”

“Take it easy there, Lieutenant. Dix here is a friend of mine,” McNary said. “He didn’t have anything to do with the dead dame in the cellar.” 

Jenny wailed and buried her face in her hands, and Meg/Madeline patted her back awkwardly. 

“You,” Bell pointed at Meg/Madeline. “You’re a little dolled up for a day at the office. Where were you last night?”

Meg straightened her shoulders and brought her chin up. “I was with my boyfriend, I’ll have you know. We went out dancing and I was with him. All. Night.”

Tom’s eyebrow lifted. 

“Yeah.” Bell nodded. “I see what’s going on.” He turned on Tom/Dix and jabbed a finger in his direction. “You got a thing for your secretary, here,” he jerked a thumb at Meg/Madeline, “but she turned you down. You got jealous and decided to try to convince her to get rid of the boyfriend and things got a little outta hand.” 

“That ain’t true!” Meg/Madeline protested. “We don’t have that sort of relationship. Dix treats me with respect.” 

“What you didn’t know was,” Bell continued, ignoring Meg/Madeline, “was that you got the wrong skirt. What happened, Hill? You see her dressed like some chippie and you lost your cool?”

“Hey!” Jenny jumped up from her chair. “My sister ain’t no roundheels! She was a good girl, like me.” 

“Round heels?” Meg asked. 

“Colloquialism for sex worker,” Jenny said. “You know, a good-time-girl.” Meg nodded. 

“What’s your name, anyway?” Bell rounded on Jenny, who squeaked and took a step back.

“Secrette Twain. And my sister was Trixy.” With this, she burst into tears again. Meg patted her on the back again, a little less awkwardly. 

“You’re coming with me, Hill. I finally got you this time.” Bell took a threatening step toward Tom, who put his hands up, palms out, in an attempt to supplicate him. 

“Okay, okay. I’m going. But you’re making a mistake, Bell.”

“The only mistake here is yours, Hill.”

“This is ridiculous,” Harry/Ace protested. “Dix didn’t kill that woman.” 

Bell was hauling Tom out of the office by the arm. “Ace, it’s up to you to save my bacon!” Tom shouted. “You have to find out who iced that skirt in the basement.”

Jenny/Secrette wailed even louder. 

Harry/Ace patted her on the back, awkwardly. 

“This can’t be right,” McNary said. “Futura, are you sure you don’t know anything that can help Dix?” He was addressing Harry. 

“No,” Harry replied, “but I’m gonna find out.” He turned to Jenny and Meg. “Madeline, it looks like you have a sister after all.” 

Jenny/Secrette looked up and sniffed. “We must have been separated at birth.” 

Meg/Madeline nodded. “I found a sister today, and lost one, too.” 

“So did I,” Jenny/Secrette agreed. She smiled, then her features transformed into a fierce expression. “We’re going to help you find out who killed our sister, and then we’re going to clear Dix’s good name!”

The room darkened as the scene changed.

***

Tom’s butt was numb. He’d been sitting on a hard wooden bench in the jail cell for what felt like hours twirling his fedora on his index finger. Shouldn’t Harry and the Delaney sisters have solved the mystery by now? This second fiddle business was a tad boring. 

“It’s a nice look for you.” 

Tom looked up through the bars to see Torres leaning with a shoulder against the wall, arms crossed. 

“I’m not sure about the colour, though.” 

“What are you doing here? Are we over time?” 

She shook her head. “No. I was looking for Harry. We were supposed to look over some modifications to the—”

“Work, work, work,” Tom held up a hand, “that’s all you two ever do. _Voyager_ is a brand new ship, you know, you don’t need to completely rebuild her.”

“He’s…” she looked down, away, back. Her chin came up. “He’s helping me figure out some things, that’s all.” 

“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to him that Torres might need a little help understanding _Voyager’s_ newly designed systems. “They really shouldn’t be much longer.” He smiled as he was struck with an idea. “Hey, why don’t you pick an outfit and join the novel?”

She shook her head, drawing back slightly. “Oh, no. I don’t play… novels.” 

“The holodeck can be used for more than just simulations and exercise, you know.” 

“I know, I just… I just don’t do that.” 

She was looking a challenge at him, and Tom backed down. “Okay,” he said.

“You look at home, though.” 

Was she teasing? Serious? “In a jail cell? Thanks.” His mouth twisted into a pout.

She flushed, her cheeks turning a curious shade of ruddy pink. “I meant the suit,” she said. 

McNary entered the room holding a ring of keys but stopped short when he saw B’Elanna. He looked from her to Tom/Dix, then back. “Lieutenant McNary. Are you a friend of Dix’s”

B’Elanna straightened and looked from McNary to Tom and back. “Lieutenant Torres. I guess so.” 

McNary glanced over at Tom/Dix. “How come you never told me you were friends with such a dish, Dix?” He turned back to B’Elanna with a smile. “Where are you from, Torres?”

“Downtown,” Tom said.

“Huh. I thought I knew everyone in the local precincts.”

B’Elanna frowned in confusion, but before Tom could answer, Bell strode in dragging a skinny young man behind him. Harry/Ace was right on his heels, and the Delaney/Twain sisters brought up the rear.

“Who’s the tomato? She your moll, Hill? She’s a real looker. But what’s with the pyjamas?” He gestured toward her uniform jumpsuit.

“I’m a what?” 

B’Elanna put her fisted hands on her hips and leaned forward, putting on what Tom thought of as her ‘fighting stance’. 

“Yeah, she’s your kinda dame, all right,” Hill said. 

“This is Lieutenant Torres,” McNary offered.

“Lieutenant?” Bell’s mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Where you from they got broads fer detectives? Lock me up!”

“Dix said she’s from the twelth.”

“Since we’re doing introductions,” Tom/Dix said, “who’s that?” He was pointing at the skinny, rather disheveled young man. 

Harry/Ace grabbed the man by the arm and stepped forward. “He’s John Lantern. He killed Trixy.”

Tom had stood and moved toward the bars, but now he stepped back as McNary unlocked the cell and pushed open the door. Tom stepped out and Harry/Ace shoved Lantern inside. The man collapsed onto the bench and buried his face in his hands. 

“I didn’t mean to do it,” he cried. “We was arguin’ an’ she fell.”

“Lantern…” Tom mused. “I know you! You’re Jacko, a small time crook.”

“I hit it big,” Jacko wailed. “I hit up that jewelers at Front and Third. But Trixy stole the marbles and wouldn’t give ‘em back.”

“So you killed her?” B’Elanna stepped forward, anger pinching her features, and the man in the cell flinched. 

“She fell! We was tussling over the necklace and she fell.”

“Awwww… tell it to the judge.” Bell smacked the bars with the flat of his fist, then turned to Tom/Dix. “You’re free to go, Hill. But I’m gonna keep my eye on you.”

The scene shimmered and disappeared, and was replaced by the black and gold grid of the holodeck. 

“Whoooooo! That was so much fun!” Jenny delaney, now back in her uniform, twirled in a circle and clasped Harry by the arm. “My hero,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek. 

“And mine,” Meg said, kissing his other cheek. 

They waltzed out of the holodeck together, with Tom and B’Elanna bringing up the rear. “Hey, Ace,” Tom called.

Harry stopped and turned his head.

“Thanks for saving my bacon.”

Harry laughed and nodded. “It was fun,” he admitted.

Tom glanced at B’Elanna, walking at his side. “You know, if you ever want to try it, I can write a role for a spunky female sidekick. A junior investor.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t play—”

“Play novels, I know.” Tom nodded. “It’s too bad. I think you’d make a good gumshoe.”

She frowned at him, confused, but Tom just shook his head. After a moment, she said, “I liked you hat.”

Tom smiled. 

***

Okay, so this is rushed, my day was constant interruptions, and I didn’t manage to work in a joke about ‘never the Twain shall meet’ but I guess I’m happy with it. And I was at the point where B’Elanna appeared when I realized I’d have to write how some guy killed his girlfriend. So that was fun.


	30. “I’m with you, you know that.” / corruption - training - teasing - almost getting caught / Recovery / Mad Scientist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, by 4pm I knew I’d made a mistake in my choice of plot but I pushed on. Erm.

Day 30: 

“I’m with you, you know that.” / corruption - training - teasing - almost getting caught / Recovery / Mad Scientist

***

“I’m with you, Chakotay, you know that. But this is…”

“I thought you, of anyone, would understand. If he’s there, I’m going to go get him.” 

“I do understand. But it’s too dangerous. We’ll never pull it off.”

“We’re going with you or without you. If you like, I can have Paris pull over at Deep Space Nine and let you off. You can get your hair done. Maybe buy a new dress.” 

Seska’s eyes narrowed and her expression hardened. “You’re putting all of us in danger because of a rumour.” 

Chakotay slid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. His voice lowered to an intimate rumble. “I thought you liked the danger. I thought that was why you’re here.” 

Seska softened against him and tilted her head up to whisper in his ear. B’Elanna looked away and busied herself with the readouts on her console. She felt a wash of heat in her face, and a little sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with the mission Chakotay had decided upon. They left the bridge, their boots clanging on the metal floor plates, and she scowled. 

“Don’t you just hate it when mom and dad fight?”

Paris’ flippant comment grated on her already frayed nerves. She hunched her shoulder, putting as much of a physical barrier between them as she could. She wasn’t in the mood for his condescending arrogance right now. Chakotay, acting on a hunch and very little intel, wanted to infiltrate a Starfleet base near the Cardassian border and ‘recover’ a Cardassian physicist and his research. It was an insane idea, likely one that would get them all killed. They’d discussed the idea, as much as Chakotay discussed anything, and he’d been pretty clear that anyone who didn’t agree with his plans could lump it. 

Sometimes his Starfleet ‘sheep’ shone through his Maquis wolf’s clothing. 

Not that this was a collective, she knew that. He valued opinions, but B’Elanna could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times a discussion had resulted in his changing his mind. He issued orders like he was Starfleet brass. And Paris, who had sat mute through all of the back and forth, had chosen now to say something clever. Well, fuck him. She wasn’t in the mood. 

“You didn’t say what you think of the idea,” Tom pushed.

“What I think?” She spun her chair and stared at him. He was lounging in his seat, legs stretched out in front of him, feet crossed at the ankle, looking more like a teenager in his bedroom than a Maquis freedom fighter in the cockpit of a ship. His eyes were hooded as he watched her, and his mouth was curled up in one corner in a smirk. “I think it’s foolhardy. I think Chakotay is too blinded by emotion, by his idea of getting revenge on one particular Cardassian, to think straight. I’d understand this from Seska, but—”

She shut her mouth, cutting off the stream of words. Fuck. Why was she saying anything to him, anyway? “You didn’t offer an opinion.” 

Tom scowled. “Chakotay seems to think I have some secret Starfleet training that will allow me to fly us into the perimeter of a base undetected, hack through the security codes, and then kidnap a Cardassian right out from under security’s nose. Pardon me, _recover_. I dunno. Maybe he thinks I’m black ops or something.” 

“Are you?” She raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t been able to rescue himself from the clutches of a demented Bajoran girl, but it was possible he’d simply been waiting for her to return iwth her shopping before he tried some of those self-defence moves he’d been taught in the Academy. She smiled at the thought of him trying to cover up his naked ass while he battled Ozi Oatani to the… knockout. 

“Yeah, that’s me: Tom Paris, super spy. My whole sorry history is just a cover story. Really, I’m a secret agent sent to infiltrate the Maquis and bring you down from within.”

B’Elanna stiffened. “You should be careful what you say, Paris. Someone else might not believe you’re joking.” 

“As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t really matter.” He snorted. “I’m stuck at the ass end of the quadrant, piloting a piece of junk, living with people who don’t even like each other, let alone trust each other, who think they can take on both Cardassia and the Federation and win. And I’m the big threat? Sure”

He stood and moved towards the corridor, but paused on the threshold of the bridge. “You want some coffee?” he offered.

B’Elanna was silent for a moment then shook her head. “No.” 

“Suit yourself,” he said. 

She spun her chair back toward the viewport, and sighed. He was right. The only person on the ship that she really trusted was Chakotay, but his headlong rush into Federation space to capture some mythical Cardassian bad guy was foolhardy at best. But she’d voiced her objection, and he’d made up his mind. He was the captain, and she’d made a promise to follow him. She got back to the business of tinkering with the shields. 

***

It had taken them five days. Tom had swung around Regulon, staying well clear of Deep Space Nine and any ‘fleet traffic, then he’d skirted the Cardassian neutral zone popping in and out of planetary systems. It reminded him of his time running cargo, after he’d been tossed out of Starfleet. At least here, on the _Liberty_ he had his own bunk. Though, he wouldn’t mind sharing, depending on the roommate. 

He’d wondered before, but now he was certain. Torres had a thing for Chakotay. Her bad luck, since he seemed to be wrapped up in Seska. She did have an innate sexiness, Tom acknowledged, a self confidence and assurance in her own power that was undeniably attractive. Plus, she had a knock-out figure. But he always found himself thinking about Torres. She was completely unlike any Klingon he’d ever heard of: quiet, wary, restrained. Unless she lost her temper, then you needed to find a nice, sturdy console to hide behind. But there was something about her… maybe it was just those dark eyes, or her mouth. Maybe it was her crush on Chakotay. 

Tom inhaled sharply. It wouldn’t do to muse about her in his bed while he was supposed to be flying under Fed sensors. They’d been incredibly lucky. They hadn’t encountered any other ships, either cargo or Federation, and this old rust bucket they called home had hung together. 

He punched in a query and a system map came up on his display. “We’re coming up on Merak,” Tom said. “What do you want me to do?” 

“Keep on the opposite side from the base. I don’t want them to pick us up.” 

Tom nodded and keyed in the commands. He thought of the flight training he’d done at Caldik Prime: low-atmo strafing, dodging asteroids. Bullshitting with his crew about pulling off a Kolvoord Starburst… And in the end it had been a simple error in a shuttle. 

Tom gave himself a mental shake. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the past, he had to concentrate on the now. He’d practically made a career of sneaking around as a senior at the Academy; he figured he could glide up to the planet undetected. For now, anyway. He’d been thinking about where the sensors would be placed, about what would be the most likely flight path for him to use to fly in, undetected. 

Ayala had intercepted regular chatter from the base and he and Chakotay were, presumably, combing through it for any hint that his phantom Cardassian was there. If he’d found anything, he hadn’t shared it with Tom. Torres was in the engine room, and Seska sat in sulky silence at the engineering station. The mood on the little bridge was not ‘light’. There was absolutely zero banter. 

Tom ran a check. “I’m not detecting any Cardassian life signs.” 

“They could be masking them,” Chakotay countered.

Tom frowned, and spun in his chair. “Why would they? I’m counting sixty-seven life signs, a third of which are probably security since they’re so close to Cardassian space. But the war with Cardassia is over; if this guy was here, he’d be their guest, not their prisoner.” 

Chakotay tensed but didn’t answer. 

“And if he was spilling Cardassian military secrets,” Tom continued, “they’d have taken him to Earth, not kept him a stone’s throw from home.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Paris.” 

“But maybe you should hear it anyway. You’ve led us on this wild goose chase, and he’s not here. I think we should get out of here before they spot us.” 

Chakotay’s head snapped up and he levelled Tom with a glare. “I don’t care what you think. You’ll follow my orders and do your job; fly low enough to keep us out of sensor range, and try not to crash into the planet. Show us all what a hotshot pilot you really are.”

Tom stiffened and his jaw came up. It hadn’t occurred to him that Chakotay had known about his past, had used his own Starfleet contacts to find out all about him before he’d allowed him to join his crew, but it made sense. His posting to the _Exeter_, Caldik Prime, it felt like another lifetime. He hadn’t expected the dig; the big guy must be rattled. 

Tom let the taunt slide off his back, and turned back to the conn and kept his eyes on his sensors. Cardassians had destroyed his family, too, just not as quickly or as cleanly as they had for most of the people who were fighting with the Maquis. When they’d captured and tortured his father when Tom was a teenager, his relationship with his father had been irrevocably changed, and everything that came afterward had led him, irrevocably, to where he was right now. He wouldn’t mind getting a little revenge of his own. 

**

He had no idea how they’d made it this far. Blind luck, probably. They’d actually made it inside the compound, inside the base, through a power distribution centre. Someone had left a door ajar. Carved into the arid, barren desert, someone had constructed an ornamental garden complete with shade trees, a flower garden, and old fashioned garden doors like the ones in Tom’s family home in San Francisco. Someone had left a door wide open, and they’d filed in, weapons at the ready. 

If Chakotay knew who he was, Tom thought, he likely knew who his father was. Someone—Dalby? Jonas?—had mentioned that Chakotay had taught at the Academy. If so, their paths hadn’t intersected. But, as far as Tom knew, his dad was still there. Had the two of them known each other? He’d joked with B’Elanna about being a Starfleet spy, a black ops operative, but following Chakotay now, watching him as he slunk from room to corridor to room, Tom had to wonder about Chakotay’s past training with Starfleet. Did the base not have internal cameras? Was no one on security detail? It was ridiculous that they’d got this far, walking in. 

Chakotay checked his tricorder then folded it quietly and slipped it into a pocket. He looked up and caught Ayala’s eye, and signalled. Tom and Bendara were to stay and guard the rear while Ayala and B’Elanna went with him further along the corridor. He pointed to a doorway about ten metres further up, and Ayala nodded. Tom turned his back to them and stood watch over the way they’d come. 

*** 

She’d thought they might burst through the door, phaser rifles firing, but Chakotay had simply tapped the door release and they’d walked in. A man—not a Cardassian—sat at a counter, peering into some piece of medical or scientific equipment. B’Elanna wasn’t sure what it was. He raised a hand at the sound of the door opening, and waved absently a few times. 

“Put it over there. I’ll get to it in a minute.” 

Chakotay stood, his jaw locked, back rigid, waiting. Eventually, the man looked up and stared at them. His mouth opened, then closed. 

“Who are you?” 

“Someone you’ve wronged,” Chakotay answered. 

The man looked perplexed. He shook his head. “I’m certain we’ve never met.” 

“I used to live with my people on a planet not far from here. It was green and beautiful, and we lived in harmony with our world. You took that from us.”

B’Elanna glanced from Chakotay to the other man and adjusted her grip on the rifle. He was obviously confused, but she saw that he was becoming impatient. She shifted from one foot to the other as nerves sparked up her spine and the back of her neck; they didn’t have time for one of Chakotay’s stories. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Two years ago, you were responsible for the death of my father and everyone else I cared about.” His fingers gripping his phaser rifle were white with tension. “Can you deny it?”

The man shook his head, anger rippling over his features. “You come in here, accusing me of all sorts of things! I’m a scientist! I design power cells. I don’t know anything about…” He paused then, understanding shaded his eyes and he gasped. “I know who you are.” 

The man’s face lit with recognition, and B’Elanna saw Chakotay harden. He seemed to grow visibly, and he suddenly looked huge. For a brief moment, she believed that he was about to shoot the man, or bludgeon him to death with his phaser rifle. 

“You’re those rebels, the ones everyone is talking about.” He looked from Chakotay to Ayala to B’Elanna. “You’re those Maquis. Well, I won’t stand for this. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve certainly never killed anyone! How dare you?”

Chakotay bared his teeth in a growl and swung his rifle in an arc toward the man. He fired, and the science console exploded in a shower of sparks and smoke. B’Elanna gasped and jumped; her pulse was pounding in her ears. She glanced at the door, expecting Bendara—or Starfleet security—to burst through. 

“The weapons that the Cardassians used to murder my family had a Federation signature. You helped to design them!”

“Just the power packs. I’ve never even held a weapon in my life. How dare you accuse me—”

Chakotay raised his arm, elbow high, but Ayala caught his wrist. “We need to go. Now.” 

They stood there, stilled, quiet, and she could see the conflict on Chakotay’s face. He pulled his hand phaser and shot the man.

B’Elanna gasped. 

“He’s just stunned,” Chakotay said. He strode to the door, motioning for her and Ayala to hug the wall on either side of the doorway. She chose to hide behind Ayala. Chakotay punched the door release and peeked out into the corridor, then swung out of the room and headed up the corridor at a run. “Go, Paris!” he called.

***

He heard the blast of a phaser rifle, and it took everything in him to wait, to stay where he was and listen. There was no sound of booted feet, no cries, no more sounds of phaser fire. Maybe, instead of ‘recovering’ this Cardassian, Chakotay had made sure he’d never recover from whatever it was had just happened. 

Tom scanned the hallway ahead of him, then looked over his shoulder at the door. It opened, and the three of them burst through it like the hounds of hell were on their heels. Maybe they were! 

“Go, Paris,” Chakotay yelled. 

He didn’t have to tell him twice. Tom slipped through the corridor barely pausing before each junction or doorway to look for targets. Chakotay and Ayala had stayed in the rear, and B’Elanna had caught up to him with Bendara close behind her. He felt the thrill of adrenaline pumping through his veins, his heartbeat in his ears. He was trying to stay quiet, hoping the thin carpet muffled his footfalls, but someone was pounding behind him, sounding like a herd of elephants. He didn’t think it was B’Elanna. 

He paused at the doorway to the power distribution room, throwing his free arm behind him in the ‘wait’ signal. B’Elanna, unable to stop immediately, ran into it, and his fingers curled around her belly. He felt the slick, soft warmth of her leather vest, the cool metal of the buckle on her belt. The warmth of her. Her breath puffed against his shoulder. 

He heard something, but Bendara, someone, was breathing heavily, filling the tight corridor with the sounds of their breath. 

Booted feet, coming down the corridor directly in front of them! Tom hit the control for the door, and placed himself between the oncoming threat and the doorway. He looked back over his shoulder and caught Chakotay’s eyes. “Go,” Tom said. 

He did, Ayala and Bendara right behind him. Only B’Elanna paused. He felt her warmth behind him, her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. He fired his rifle up the corridor, and time hung suspended while he waited. He spun and shoved her through the doorway, then fired on the locking controls feeling, for the first time in a long while, like he’d done something right. 

He fired another shot down the corridor, then spun and ran back the way they’d come, toward the lab.

***

“You said he was Cardassian.”

“He might as well have been.” 

“We risked our lives for your personal vendetta?” Her voice rose, laced with venom.

“Don’t push me, Seska. Not right now.” Chakotay brushed past her and stalked to the captain’s chair.

She sniffed and jerked her face away from him, and frowned as she noticed Ayala at the helm. “Where’s Paris?” 

“He… He didn’t make it out,” B’Elanna answered. She felt something cold and hard in the pit of her stomach. What if he’d been shot? What if he’d been killed? 

“He was captured?” Seska was angry all over again. “Shit. He can tell them everything about us. Our warp signature, our shield frequencies. Our base on—” 

“He can’t tell them anything. We’re not going back to any of the places we’ve been, and B’Elanna can reconfigure the shields.” Chakotay sat stone faced in his seat. 

“I don’t trust him, Chakotay. I never did. He’s Starfleet.”

“So was I, until I wasn’t.” 

“He was probably a spy all along,” Seska said, nastily. 

B’Elanna’s head snapped up at that and her mouth dropped open. That rock in her belly twisted into a sick feeling. 

“What?” Chakotay asked. 

“He… he was joking with me about being black ops.” She shook her head. “But he was just kidding. He wasn’t serious.” 

Chakotay flung his head back, lips tight, brows drawn together in a scowl. “Of course. That’s how we got in so easily. I thought he must have had special training when he was posted to Caldik Prime, but… I can’t believe I bought it!” He shook his head. “As if the son of Owen Paris could really screw up that badly.” 

“Oh, come on,” B’Elanna objected. “If he really was a spy, he wouldn’t joke about it.” She shook her head, and looked from him to Seska. “He shoved me through that door. I think he got shot. You’re being paranoid, Chakotay, this isn’t like you.” 

Chakotay didn’t answer her; he stared straight out the viewport at the stars rushing toward them at warp six. 

“You can’t seriously think—”

“Why are you defending him so strongly, _Be’nal_?” 

She stressed the Klingon word and B’Elanna felt her cheeks heat. “I… lt wasn’t—”

“What?” Seska asked, “you think I didn’t hear you two?”

“Enough,” Chakotay snapped. “If you want to gossip, go to the mess.”

Seska leaned down and grabbed Chakotay by the chin and angled his face upwards. She kissed him slowly and deliberately before she let him go and straightened. “I’m sorry. I was just teasing. I wish they had got together; B’Elanna needs a little distraction to help her relax.”

She straightened and glanced at B’Elanna. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.” 

She smiled, and B’Elanna stood and joined her. Aside from Chakotay, Seska was her only friend. “Do you really think he was a Starfleet spy?” she asked.

Seska laughed. “That drunk? He was a Starfleet washout.” 

B’Elanna flinched. 

“I think I’d know a spy when I saw one.”

***

Aaaaaaaannnnnnd, of course, my Mad Scientist should have been Crell Moset. I did try to think up a ‘pissed off Janeway’ plot but came up empty. Le sigh….


	31. “Scared, me?” / freechoice kink / Embrace / Here comes the sun.

Day 31: 

“Scared, me?” / freechoice kink / Embrace / Here comes the sun.

The first duty of any Starfleet officer is to the truth.

***

“I hear you and B’Elanna were up in the middle of the night again.” Harry slid his tray onto the mess table and sat down, uninvited, opposite Tom. He scrunched his neck into his shoulders and leaned forward across the table, his eyebrows drawing together as he studied his pal. “Were you just asleep sitting up?” 

Tom was sitting with his eyes closed, forehead propped in one hand, the fingers of the other curled around a half consumed mug of coffee. It didn’t appear to have helped him wake up. 

“Maybe,” Tom slurred. He inhaled deeply and straightened in his chair, raising his chin and letting his head fall back. He put a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it as he rolled his shoulders, then dropped his head back to look at Harry. 

“Hmmm…” Harry frowned. “I hope that doesn’t happen at the helm.” 

One corner of Tom’s mouth lifted in a smile. “If it does, I’m counting on you to send me a signal to wake me up.” 

“So,” Harry continued, “more false labour?”

“Yup.”

“By the time it finally happens for real, neither of you will believe it and she’ll end up giving birth beside the warp core,” Harry mused.

“Oh, I think when it happens for real, we’ll know. The whole ship will probably hear her cursing.” 

Harry grinned. “She does have quite the temper. And being pregnant seems to have brought it back.”

“Tell me about it,” Tom groused. “Those pregnancy hormones…” 

“Must be tough. She can be scary sometimes.” 

“Scared? Me?” Tom smiled into his coffee cup then took a swig. “Actually, they have an ‘up side’, too.” He smiled wolfishly at his pal, “If you ever settle down and decide to have a family, I hope you find out.” 

Harry didn’t blush exactly, but he squirmed in his seat a bit. “You know, I’ve gone three years without knowing the intimate details of your relationship, I don’t need to find out now.” 

Tom laughed. “So how did you know about our trip to sickbay this morning?” 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think that B’Elanna can waddle through the corridors, cursing and glaring, with you following her in your boxers and bare feet and it won’t be all over the ship inside of fifteen minutes?”

Tom sighed. “Next time, we’ll transport to sickbay.” He leaned forward and jabbed a warning finger at Harry. “You’d better not let her hear you use the word ‘waddle’ and her name in the same sentence or you’ll be in trouble.” 

Harry just smiled. “I rely on you to talk her down. Where is she, anyway?” He turned in his chair and looked at the doors that led to the corridor and the bathrooms beyond. Lately, if she wasn’t in her quarters or engineering, you could find her in the head. Not that he went looking. 

“We were up at oh four hundered, so after we got back from sickbay she got dressed and went to engineering.” 

“Huh. She didn’t even try to go back to sleep?”

“Naw. She hasn’t really been sleeping well lately anyway. The baby is either kicking, or pressing on her bladder, or her back aches.” Tom shook his head. “I’m telling ya, Harry, I don’t know how our mothers did it. And mine did it three times.” 

“Lucky for you,” Harry said. He dropped his fork onto his tray and finished off his own coffee. “Ready? Or do you want to go back to your quarters for a nap?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Tom deadpanned. He stood and grabbed is tray.

“So, I’m thinking of starting a new pool: date, time. You in?” Harry asked.

“What?” Tom asked. “I’ve got ten replicator rations in the pool already.” 

Harry shook his head as they exited the mess hall and headed for the turbolift. “She’s gone past the latest date. You still in for ten?”

“Yeah, but let me think about it.”

“No insider knowledge, Tom. I’m trusting you to not ask the Doctor or look at her medical file.” 

Tom’s face scrunched into a look of baffled disappointment. “Harry, do you really think I’d cheat about the birth of my own daughter? My flesh and blood?”

“Yeah, I do.” 

The lift doors opened and they stepped inside, and Tom clapped his friend on the shoulder. “You’re learning, Harry. You’re learning.” 

***

“I’m glad to see you’re sitting down, at least.” 

B’Elanna glanced up from the PADD she was reading and did her best to resist the smile that was tugging at her mouth. Tom was lounging in the doorway to her office, arms crossed, head leaning on the doorframe.

“Why? Do you have big news to empart? Are you afraid I’ll fall over in a faint?” 

“Well, with your blood sugar levels, you never know.” 

“I’m fine.” Tom peered at her, the intensity of his gaze reminding her more of the ship’s nurse than of her loving husband. “But if you don’t knock it off, I might start to get annoyed,” she warned.

He smiled. “I brought you something,” he said as he straightened. 

She eyed the PADD in his hand and her eyes widened in false joy. “Could that be your helm report, Lieutenant? Imagine my excitement.”

Tom looked at the PADD and shook his head. “Nope. Good thing too since the Doc wants you to remain calm at all times.” He uncrossed his arms and revealed a plastic food container in his other hand. “Potato salad.” 

She rolled her eyes. “I had breakfast. You watched me eat it.” 

“Yes, but that was four hours ago and we need to—”

“Force feed me every four hours?”

Tom walked over to her desk and placed the container and a fork in front of her, then leaned down to kiss her softly. “I know you, Mrs. Paris. I know exactly how you get when some puzzle sparks your attention.” He pushed her hair aside and traced the curve of her cheek. “And I know that you’re reviewing the sensor information on the nebula and the wormholes.” 

B’Elanna sighed and softened. “Busted,” she said. “Fine. I could eat something.” Tom drew back and settled his butt on her desk, stretching his long legs out beside her chair. He folded his arms across his chest and watched while she took a bite. “What?” 

He just smiled and shook his head. “What’s Miral doing?” His eyes dropped to her distended belly.

“Sleeping, of course.” 

“Of course. Well, she was up pretty early,” he nodded.

“Tom…” B’Elanna set the dish and fork aside and tilted her head to look at him. “Things are going to change a lot really soon, aren’t they?” She didn’t know where this sudden wave of trepeditation had come from, but she felt antsy, unsure, in a way she hadn’t in years. It was an uncomfortable feeling, considering her age and present condition. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But all for the better. I can’t wait to hold her. And to see you hold her. You’re going to be great at this.” 

She saw the love shining in his eyes, the certainty that everything would be okay, and nodded. “You’re right, it’ll be fine.” 

Tom cupped her cheek, then took her hands in his and tugged her up from her chair. He shook his head. “It’s going to be wonderful, B’Elanna. It’s going to be amazing.” 

He kissed her again, wrapping his arms around her and holding her as close as their daughter would allow. Her hands slid up his chest and over his shoulders and she pulled him closer, losing herself in his familiar scent and warmth. The air left his lungs with an _uggh_, and she grinned in the middle of their kiss. 

Tom dropped a quick peck on her nose and forehead, and held her close. She settled her head on his shoulder and blanked her mind, just let herself enjoy the way his body felt against hers. 

“Do you remember when the captain chewed us out for our ‘juvenile behaviour’, back when we first started dating?”

B’Elanna froze. Almost four years later and she still felt the sting of embarrassment over that incident. “How could I forget?”

“I wouldn’t trade a moment of the last four years with you, B’Elanna.” Tom pulled back, putting a little space between them. Of the last seven. But this year has been the best. And I can’t wait to find out what happens tomorrow, and next month, and next year, because I know how right this feels.”

She felt tears well in her eyes, and her lips quivered. There was a time when, if Tom had said something like that to her, she would have rolled her eyes, or brushed him off, made a joke about the Borg, or Alice, or even the times when they were both lost and presumed gone. Not that any of those incidents were funny in any way. But now, nearing—please God—the end of her pregnancy, she just wanted to dissolve into a puddle of emotion whenever Tom said anything remotely mushy to her. 

“Harry had a crazy idea to refit the ‘flyer and go into the nebula to explore the worm holes,” Tom continued. “He’s hoping one of them will lead us back to the Alpha Quadrant.” 

B’Elanna stiffened. Was all this his way of buttering her up so she wouldn’t object when he took the shuttle into the nebula to play hide and seek with the Borg? She raised her head from his shoulder and opened her mouth to ask. Tom placed his finger to her lips to quiet her.

“He’s still focused on getting home.” Tom shook his head. “I told him I am home. You’re my home, B’Elanna, you and our daughter, and it doesn’t matter where were are, you’ll always be my home.” 

This kiss was tentative, sweet, like--and yet so very unlike--their first real kiss in the corridor outside the mess hall four years ago. His mouth moved over hers, his lips settling onto hers with a soft warmth that was so familiar, but still made her breath catch. She shivered, her body coming alive, heat sparking and pooling in her sex and her breasts and the small of her back. His hands were in her hair, his fingertips tracing the back of her head, her neck, cupping her face as their kiss deepened. 

He lifted his head and stared into her eyes; his breathing was a little ragged, too. “Slow down there, Lieutenant. A quickie in your office won’t be as easy now as it used to be.” 

She snorted. “We’ve never had a ‘quickie’ in my office.” 

“We haven’t?” His face puckered in confusion. “Then who was that…?” 

She punched him playfully on the shoulder. “Jerk.” 

Tom smiled. “I have to get back to the bridge. See you later?”

She nodded.

He pointed at the container on her desk. “Finish—”

“I will. I’ll see you later.” 

He kissed her again, a quick peck on the mouth, then he was gone.

***

He’d been watching her for the last ten minutes. He hadn’t attempted to hide the fact that he was there, though he had raised a finger to his lips: the almost universal gesture for, _shhhhh_. Sue Nicoletti had come up to him and confessed that she’d been trying to get her to leave for the last three hours, but ‘you know how she is when she gets her teeth into a project’. He did. But right now, the most important ‘project’, to him at least, was the new life she carried in her womb, not the new life they were hoping they’d find on the other side of one of those worm holes. 

He’d checked up on her yesterday, bringing her that bowl of potato salad as a midmorning snack, and again today during his afternoon shift change from sickbay to the bridge. While they were talking, she’d mentioned her unease about what would happen if they did make it back to Earth, about where she’d give birth, where they’d live. And even though she’d used the word ‘home’ he knew her, after seven years, he knew her. Her teasing him about taking the first chance to fly off on an assignment and leave her to stay home with the diapers had revealed more about her current emotional unrest than she’d likely care to admit. He didn’t think it was all down to hormones, either.

She was checking something on a display, reading, scrolling, punching a few buttons, wholly engrossed in whatever data was on the screen. The specs for the ablative armour that the Admiral had brought were exciting to him, so he could only imagine how engrossing B’Elanna would find them. But… It was late, and more than time she took a break and trusted her staff to do their work.

Tom couldn’t help but smile as her hand drifted to her belly and rubbed, but he frowned as it slid around to her back and she winced. She looked up just as he took a step toward her. He saw surprise on her face, then a flash of guilt, before her features settled into a ‘fine, you’ve caught me’ expression. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi, yourself,” Tom said. 

“Checking up on me again?”

“Someone has to and I hear your staff are being run off their feet, so I figured it was my job.” 

She sucked a breath, wiggled a shoulder. “I’m fine.” 

“Try again,” Tom said.

“Seriously. Vorik brought me my dinner and I actually sat down to eat it. Ask them.” 

She waved a hand, encompassing the room in general. Tom noticed that no one was looking their way. 

“You know what I think?” Tom took another step toward her and slid his hands around her waist. “I think that your highly trained and motivated staff can finish overseeing the upgrades by themselves, and that the universe won’t end if you get eight hours of sleep.”

“Eight hours?” Her eyes rounded in mock surprise. “What’s that like?” 

Tom grinned. “I used to know, but I’ve forgotten. Come on, it’s past twenty-two hundred. It’s time to put the baby to bed.” He glanced down at her belly, then back up into her eyes. “We agreed we were going to be firm about bedtime, remember?” 

B’Elanna sighed, then nodded. “Okay. It would be nice to take off these boots.” 

He slid an arm around her shoulders and turned her toward the main doors, but of course she stopped to hand a PADD to Sue and give her some instructions. Tom waited patiently, and after a couple of minutes, they were in a turbolift on their way to their quarters. He’d eaten hours ago, with Harry, who couldn’t stop talking about home, Earth, seeing his parents again. Tom had let Harry’s wistful chatter roll over him like mist, happy for his friend, but content in knowing that he no longer cared if they made it back to the Alpha Quadrant. But his mind had been distracted by B’Elanna’s comments earlier in the day, and her calling him flyboy, of all things. They generally didn’t use nicknames. 

As soon as they walked into their quarters, B’Elanna braced herself with a hand on the wall and kicked off her boots. “Ohhh, that’s better.” She looked at him and smiled. “I think I want a long hot bath. Want to join me?” 

The tub wasn’t really big enough for two; it had been a tight squeeze before she’d gotten pregnant. But he wasn’t about to turn down an offer like that. “Why don’t I run it while you change?” 

She just smiled and removed her combadge, then pulled the fastener on her jacket. Tom crossed to the bathroom and set the temperature for the water, then stripped out of his uniform. Her warm fingertips slid up his back toward his shoulder, and he turned to find her naked in front of him: round and ripe and glowing despite her exhaustion. 

He pulled her into his arms and just held her for a few moments, breathing her in, appreciating her warmth and the silkiness of her skin on his. For all her softness, her round hard belly pressed against his, and he dropped a hand to it and caressed her, imagining that he was touching their sleeping daughter. 

She shivered and pushed against his chest. “Help me in,” she said.

A year ago, she would never have asked for help with such a simple task. Six months ago, she didn’t trust him enough to believe that he wouldn’t abandon her and their baby. He suspected, he feared, that she still felt that way. 

“_You fly boys are all the same. You’ll probably take the first piloting assignment that comes along and leave me home to change the diapers._”

He held her tighter for a moment, then stepped back and took her hand, allowing her to lean on him as she climbed into the tub and settled. He turned off the water and carefully stepped in behind her, arranging his legs on either side of her hips. She leaned back against him, her back to his chest, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Water lapped around her breasts, and Tom cupped one gently. She smiled as she relaxed into his embrace, and he nuzzled her hair, her cheek. 

“I was thinking,” he said, “if this works and we do get back to the Alpha Quadrant…” 

“What?” 

She’d tensed, and started to sit up, but he pulled her back against him. The water sloshed. He brought his arms around her, his hands covering her belly and stared at the image: the water lapping at her rounded belly, her navel, distended and a little funny looking high and dry. His hands, half in, half out of the water, light glinting off his wedding band. And suddenly, he was sure. 

“I thought I’d resign my commission,” he said. “Stay home with the baby.” 

She sat up, water sloshing alarmingly, and this time he allowed it. “What?!” She looked shocked, disbelieving. 

He hadn’t been thinking about it, not really, but it had come to him when he’d remembered her teasing words in engineering this afternoon. He’d been promised leave once Miral was born, but he knew that here, on _Voyager_ he was just a comm signal away from the bridge or sickbay. It wasn’t the same as real leave. They would make it work, if they had to, the same way Sam Wildman had with Naomi. But if they made it back to Earth, he didn’t have to make anything _work_, he didn’t have to juggle being where he wanted to be with being where duty demanded he be. His first duty was to _his_ truth, to his family: B’Elanna and Miral, and any other children they were lucky enough to have. 

She had twisted to look at him, and was staring at him completely flummoxed. It wasn’t often that he surprised her, and he had to grin. She was frowning now, turning her back to him and reaching for the sponge. “Very funny,” she muttered. “Wash my back.” 

It was an order, accompanied by a toss of the wet sponge. It hit him in the throat.

“I wasn’t joking.” She’d stiffened, and Tom dipped the sponge in the warm water and ran it up her spine with just enough force to make her sway. She moaned. “I know how important this is to you, being an engineer, fixing things and working on new problems. And whether we live with my parents, or on another ship, or on some backwater space station in the Beta Quadrant, I don’t care because I meant it when I said that you’re my home.”

He leaned forward and kissed the back of her neck, her shoulder, under her jaw. She turned her head to look at him. 

“I’ll change the diapers. And if you want, you can fly off on some mission to…” he shrugged, “build some amazing prototype ‘whatever’. I’ll be home with our children, waiting for you to come back. Wherever that home is.” 

This time the tears won. Her chin quivered, then her lips pressed together. Her face started to crumple, and cupped her cheek and kissed her. Then he kissed her again: mouth, cheek, eyes. “I love you, B’Elanna. I don’t want to be anywhere but with you.” 

She nodded, and her fingers curled into his shoulder. “I want to get out now, Tom.” Her voice was breathy.

“You know,” Tom said, “there’s an old wives tale that sex brings on labour.” 

“Really?” 

He smiled and helped her to stand. 

***

It, felt like hours since he’d been called to sickbay, since he’d left her in pain and alone to give birth to their daughter without him. _If this mission is going to succeed, we need our best pilot at the helm._ He’d almost refused. Almost. 

Playing cat and mouse with the Borg while the transwarp conduit threatened to collapse around them, a part of his mind worrying about B’Elanna and the baby, it had been hard to focus, hard to stay in the ‘now’ of battle. Knowing that the Borg sphere on their tail could capture them at any moment, assimilate them, put his baby into a maturation chamber… 

“Mister Paris,” Janeway said, “prepare to adjust your heading.” 

He shook himself. Blinked. Got his head back in the game. “Yes, ma’am.” He hoped B’Elanna didn’t know, hoped to hell that she was concentrating on their bright future, with a couple of kids, maybe a dog, a little house somewhere with a yard. 

The sphere’s tractor beam locked onto them and pulled them in, and Tom, not a religious man by any means, said a little prayer. 

*

It was a beautiful sight. A dozen or more federation vessels clustered between them and a blue and white marble that hung in space, sunlight glinting off its atmosphere, making it shine. Tom released a breath and shook his head. 

“We’re being hailed.” 

His father stood in front of him, seemingly close enough to touch, Reg Barclay at his side. Tom was aware that his mouth was hanging open, but he didn’t bother to close it; he needed the extra oxygen. Even as he traded pleasantries and questions with Janeway, his father’s eyes strayed to glance at him, as if he couldn’t look away. Tom couldn’t either. His father. 

Dad. 

He’d avoided speaking to him via the comlink with Earth, traded his chit with Harry. He’d been hoping that Miral would be born by the time they got to his number so she and B’Elanna would take a little of the attention away from him. But watching his father now, seeing how his eyes dipped and caught his own, Tom felt his breath leave him, felt regret that he hadn’t tried to speak to him immediately. 

He looked so much older than Tom remembered. 

“_Doctor to Lieutenant Paris._”

Tom’s head jerked up, fear paralyzing him, adrenaline making his heart race. Then he heard soft squeaks and snuffles. A little grunt. B’Elanna’s sigh. Harry’s eyes caught his, and he grinned. 

“_There’s someone here who’d like to say hello._”

“You’d better get down there, Tom,” his captain said. 

Tom looked at her and recognized her delight. Joy flooded through him. “Yes, ma’am.” He stood awkwardly for a moment, balancing on the balls of his feet. Then he ran. 

*** 

He was sitting on a stool beside the biobed, his baby daughter—his baby daughter!—asleep in his arms. She’d been wide awake and staring when he’d run into sickbay, her little hands balled into fists and waving in the air. B’Elanna was kissing one as he tore through the sickbay doors, and she turned her head toward him as he stood stock-still, and she’d smiled. It was possible he’d grinned like an idiot; he didn’t care. She’d held out a hand to him, and he’d taken it, moving slowly toward them both, his girls. His. And he’d felt the prick of tears as he’d looked at them, at _her_, his fierce, brilliant, vulnerable wife, holding their baby daughter. His darling. His beautiful, perfect, little darling. 

The Doctor had brought him a stool so he could ‘sit down before you fall down, Tom’, and Tom had gladly sat and kissed his amazing wife, then accepted the sweet warm weight of his daughter. It was a day of miracles. 

“How’d it go?” 

Tom jerked his head up from where he’d been gazing at the sleeping baby and frowned in confusion at B’Elanna’s question. “What?” 

“Well, all the captain said was that we made back to the Alpha Quadrant. She didn’t really say anything.” 

She’d made a shipwide announcement which Tom had heard while he was in the turbolift gripping the wall so he wouldn’t fall over. 

“It… it was nothing.” It didn’t matter. The only two things that mattered now were right here, beside him. 

“Nothing? Didn’t the Borg put up a fight? I know we took a lot of hits. How did the armour stand up? What about the shields? And the new weapons?” She tilted her head slightly and was staring at him intently.

Tom grinned and leaned over to kiss her soundly. He pulled back when Miral squirmed and let out a little squeak. “Doc,” he called, “can you wheel that monitor over here? And patch through to the main viewscreen on the bridge?”

The Doctor smiled. “Of course.” He pulled over the trolley, tapped a few buttons, and an image of Earth appeared on the screen, blue and white against a spray of diamonds on black velvet. Half of the planet was in shadow, but Sol had crested the arc of one side, and the sun’s rays lit up North America and the Atlantic Ocean.

B’Elanna’s breath caught. ‘I can’t believe it,” she said. “It’s beautiful.” 

Tom looked from B’Elanna’s profile to their daughter. Her eyes were open, and she was watching him intently, her unfocused gaze unwavering, her little mouth puckered. 

“Yeah,” Tom agreed. “Beautiful.”

*** 

The kink prompts I’m using were both a ‘free choice day’, and since my personal kink is loving, sharing, caring, mutually satisfying sex, I was going to make this smutty. That didn’t happen. I really don’t know why. But I rewatched Endgame this morning, and that scene in engineering (as well as ‘fly boy’, wtf?) pissed me off all over again, so I addressed it instead.

Also, upon seeing that I’d topped 60k words a few days ago, I had a mystical magical dream that I could make my fictober offering come in at 70k exactly. Hahahahahahahahha! Blahblahblah.

**Author's Note:**

> Because it’s Halloween (busy) I forgot to add: thanks to everyone who read along and stuck with me this month. Thanks for the kudos, which are a validation. And a big thank you for the comments and conversations. You guys kept me going when I was ready to pack it in sometime around the 12th. and the 20th. And the 26th. 
> 
> On to NaNo, which should be a breeze after this forced march!


End file.
